


Westeros Central Agency

by CaptainTarthister



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alias-inspired, Betrayal, Deadly Substances, F/M, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Other tags to be added, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Spies, Spy Agency, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 81
Words: 213,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Brienne Tarth is Team Leader of a mission that involves procurement of a deadly substance called Wildfyre and scientist Jaime Lannister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Mission

Despite the tension in her body, Brienne Tarth moved through the crowd with the sureness of a blade and the grace and speed of a snake. Though the pedestrians on the street with her were rushing to work, she still found them too slow, languid, even. At six-foot-three, her legs were long and her strides twice the length of everyone else’s. Discipline ingrained in her bones told her to avoid rushing, lest she collide into someone and call attention to herself. Lesson number one on her first day as an agent in training at “The Vale” was: Stay invisible. Easier said than to accomplish, and with her height, a near impossibility.

Tall people would always catch attention, there was nothing to be done about that. So Brienne was dressed similarly with the crowd surrounding her: a black coat over a dark suit, non-descript shoes that weren’t too high yet not flat, she was still vain enough to allow herself some heels. Her hair straw-blonde hair was cut in a chin-length bob. Again this was a choice made for the purpose of staying invisible. If she went with her preferred length, a much shorter cropped hairstyle, anyone who took notice would give her a second look debating if she were a man or a woman. Those crucial few seconds could mean her death is she was remembered or worse, surpsected. At least, when it was clear she was a woman, she just walked past people without turning heads. Dark sunglasses were a cliché, and no one in the agency wore them unless for a gag. Besides, the more you tried yourself, the more you stood out so it was best to be as ordinary as possible. The ordinary was hardly ever noticed. Brienne Tarth was plain, hardly a beauty, definitely not a looker, with her pale skin and too-generous amount of freckles. Her nose had been broken at least three times and it showed. Though her face was round, her mouth still looked too big for her face as it was thick-lipped and wide. 

Yet it couldn’t be denied that her eyes were far from ordinary. They were round, surrounded by pale blonde eyelashes, and the most brilliant, vivid shade of blue anyone came across. Her father called her Sapphire because of this, a ridiculous nickname that she prayed no one in Westeros Central Agency every found out or she’ll have to move and assume another identity.

The official word of the Westeros government regarding the intelligence agency was that it oversaw and protected Westerosi international interests. Yet most people thought it was a myth purported by the government because its employees were untraceable and its headquarters unknown. And WCA intended to remain that way forever.

The recruitment and application process was rigorous, to say the least. Brienne was approached at the end of her junior year in Winterfell University. On paper, Brienne looked just like any potential candidate: she was a Westerosi citizen with a father who was a professor of medieval history back home in Tarth, she was a student majoring in Journalism. A more thorough look indicated that she was much more.

Straight A’s, respected by professors and most of her peers except for the occasional jerk-offs who branded her a tranny or a lesbian because of her looks, ability with languages, and, the reason she got on WCA’s radar: her in-depth, excellent analysis of Westeros and Essos being on the brink of war due to long-running tensions, economic blockades, and increasing military might on both sides. Her paper predicted that should war erupt, the repercussions would last for at least two generations. It was such a well-researched paper that WCA suspected a leak. But it soon became clear that Brienne Tarth came upon information the old-fashioned way: research and interviews. Now that they knew of her, they thought how to best get her on their side. You couldn’t afford to have someone that intelligent working for the other side, it was argued when some superiors expressed doubt and resistance. Once the Essos government became aware of what she wrote, who was to stop them from recruiting her? And she had Essosi roots as well—when they decide they wanted her enough, establishing her citizenship would take very little effort.

They recruited her by appealing to the strong sense of patriotism and the romance of duty and chivalry taught to her by her father. Brienne saw visions of herself in the midst of valor, protecting the innocent, saving the world. And she had much admiration of her father. WCA used this too when they recruited her. “Think how proud your father would be,” she was told and she did. 

She trained for two years, learning languages, weapons, tactics, infiltration, various martial arts as well as numerous, rigorous practices in living under an assumed identity. She finished at the top of her class and was assigned in one of the satellite offices of WCA. What people outside of WCA didn’t know was that it functioned out in the open but without attracting attention to itself. 

King Corporation & Assets was one of its covers. It was an actual business that employed people who worked for it and had no knowledge of its connection to WCA, yet thrown in the mix were government agents such as Brienne. Its office was a thirty-storey building in Dragon Avenue, the financial and business district of Westeros. The location was risky yet who ever looked at the obvious? 

Taking her ID out of her coat, Brienne pressed it to the scanner, proceeding without missing a beat as the bar lowered to let her in. She joined the employees making their way for the elevators but she did not get into one. At least, not one of the elevators that went up. Again, this was something of the WCA’s that was out in the open. If a non-agent were to get in, the elevator was to bring him up to his destination, functioning normally. 

An agent goes through a discreet body scan and once in the car, a retinal scan that opened a bunch of ports requiring different access codes that had to be memorized. Only when the screen flashed the instruction for Brienne to swipe her ID in another scanner when the wall before her opened, allowing her at lastt in the inner, secret recesses of King Corporation & Assets.

The bright, white lights of the agency used to make her blink but she had become used to the glare. As soon as she walked past the heavy metal doors and into an elegant, modern office with sleek tables and chairs, computers and agents who could kill using only a strip of paper, she was met by Jon Snow.

“Meeting’s about to commence,” he told her, falling into a step beside her. He was shorter, standing five-foot-eight inches tall. His messy, curly dark and longish beard was a stark contrast to his formal suit. Though his build was slight, he was one of the most feared agents. His codename was Crow. Word had it that when you were dead, Jon Snow ensured you were deader than dead, in effect feasting on your carcass with the coldness of a crow and never leaving a single trance that you once existed. 

“I thought that research has been removed from all archives, as well as other materials pertaining to it,” she told him. The alarm had rung less than twenty minutes ago yet she felt that time was slowly slipping from their fingers.

“Aren’t you glad that Sam thought it pertinent to still set up an alarm?”

“For once his paranoia is in our advantage. I think.” 

They reached the conference room and sat next to each other. Catelyn Stark, the division director was already there, opening her laptop. She was flanked by Samwell Tarly on her right, who headed their Research & Development Department, a bland name for overseeing the I.T. functions in the office and designing weapons and equipment as needed. He was mockingly nicknamed the Slayer, for that one time he killed a hostile asset using a letter opener. He was overweight, awkward and slow, not undercover agent material at all. But he thought fast and hardly panicked when on-site, even that time he had to disarm a bomb with only less than a minute left. He loved conspiracy theories, a red flag for the agency, but he was an excellent worker and generally respected. Brienne certainly did, and thought it smart that he used Slayer as his codename when out on the field. By owning it, it showed he wasn’t affected by insults constantly thrown his way. 

On Catelyn’s left was her son, Robb, another agent. He went by the codename Wolf. He had been a sniper in the military before he left for the agency. His other specialty was persuasion methods and tactics, another boring name for a method that ensured prisoners provided answers whether they wanted to or not. It is said that he didn’t have blood in his veins but ice. His reputation eradicated all bitter whispers about nepotism.  
Following closely behind them was the last member of their team, Daario Naharis, who went by the codename Sellsword. His origins were a mystery. The one time Jon and Brienne managed to convince Sam to look up his employment record, the screen flashed requiring a Level Six Clearance. That meant even Catelyn Stark had no idea who Daario Naharis really was, only the director, Howland Reed.

“Good that we have assembled right on time,” Catelyn Stark said briskly. She was in her late fifties with smooth, creamy skin, a hard light in her dark blue eyes and thick, auburn hair she wore in a sleek roll. “Brienne, if you could lead.”

“Early this morning, at oh-seven-hundred hours, I got a trigger warning regarding Wildfyre,” Brienne began, pressing a button on the clicker to show the group what it was. A blueprint of the weapon was shown, as well as an animation breaking it apart. “Wildfyre is also known as Substance 82, a highly-volatile material developed by the University of King’s Landing’s Chemistry Department, under the sponsorship and with the cooperation of Targaryen Industries. Wildfyre, at the time the agency discovered its origins, was still in its early development stage. Based on its components and its dangerous potential, Wildfyre was tagged as a possible weapon for mass destruction should it be developed even more. Agent Snow and I were tasked to remove and wipe off any traces of it and all research in connection to it.” 

“Until this morning, we believed our mission successful,” Jon continued. “We set fire to the lab but only after downloading all the material regarding Wildfyre into our computers. WCA is the only one supposed to have information regarding it—we were tipped on it by an anonymous source.”

“I did not know that WCA functions as a tip hotline now,” Robb remarked. He had his mother’s face but the stoic expression certainly did not come from her. “How sure are we that this is reliable?”

“We’re not,” Jon said, looking at him before turning to the others. “Years before Wildfyre even had a name, a scientist by the name of Maegor Targaryen—he who put up Targaryen Industries—“ and he pressed a button on the clicker to show them a photo on the screen—“made the first steps towards the creation of Substance 82. This was the very early stages, let me emphasize, but there was enough evidence to suggest that he meant to use this invention for death. Easy to dismiss him as a madman but we planted an agent to observe Maegor and report him. He had already become a person of interest at this time. The last information the agent passed on indicated that Maegor’s progress and research had accelerated. That is the last we heard of him. He was never seen again.”

“Who was this agent?”

“Renly Baratheon,” Catelyn said.

“He recruited me,” Brienne said, and there was a brief flicker of emotion in her eyes before it vanished. Then she looked at Maegor Targaryen’s face on the screen. His hair was blond and cut close to his scalp, his beard thin and pale. His thick neck and shoulders gave him the appearance of a bull. “Then he became my handler.”

“Despite the success of Agents Snow and Tarth,” Sam said, “and though I wasn’t given any orders, I still thought it prudent to be on alert. I’m paranoid, you know that. I set up trigger warnings for anyone who looks into Wildfyre, even for curiosity’s sake. But those weren’t enough to warn us that Wildfyre has been weaponized.”

“If it’s always been considered a weapon—“ Daario began and Sam, understanding his confusion, went into a brief description.

“Wildfyre or Substance 82, by itself, is not lethal although yes, it is volatile. Volatile substances abound, natural and man-made. It was developed for the purpose of using it as a weapon but you can’t just use it like that. It has to be made into another form or part of something else. Say, if it becomes one of ingredients in gunpowder so it can be in a bullet, or shotgun shells, making it more accessible. I looked at the research we have on it at the time of your assignment,” he said to Jon and Brienne, “it was just one step away from becoming a bomb.”

“But because we thought we did things right, we didn’t look any further,” Brienne said. “We have to assume that despite the destruction, Targaryen Industries had insurance. King’s Landing University abandoned all research after the fire.”

“The current CEO of Targaryen Industries is Viserys Targaryen,” Catelyn said and the screen displayed a photo of a young man with sharp, gaunt, shark-like features. His hair was the famous silver-blonde of the Targaryens and round purple eyes. He was handsome yet also clearly cruel. “He’s supposed to be running it with his sister Daenerys. They inherited the company when their father Aerys died. Viserys was twenty-eight at the time and Danaerys twenty-five. She was last photographed a month after the turnover.” 

The screen showed a photo of a woman who looked so similar to Viserys they might be twins. Her features were softer, gentler, and she looked small and delicate where her brother was all hard lines and sharp angles. She had turned to the camera as she was getting into a limousine.  
“She would twenty-nine years old now. Rumor has it that she clashed with her brother on the direction of the compay,” Jon finished. “W can’t say. She’s disappeared although her signature still appears in all contracts and cheques regarding the company.”

“But our operation is not a rescue. Danaerys Targaryen is not a priority at the moment. He is,” Catelyn then nodded at the screen.

A man with a scruffy beard, blond hair shot with golden drifting unkempt to his shoulders, horn-rimmed eyeglasses with black frames perched on his nose, and a slim pair of firm-looking lips appeared next. His eyes were clear and alert, green as emeralds. He was in a lab, surrounded by beakers, test tubes and sophisticated machines. Though he looked rough around the edges, Brienne found it unable to look away from his face, least of all his eyes.

“What we’re looking at is Jaime Lannister. Yes, he is the son of Tywin Lannister, who heads LannCorp, a rival of Targaryen Industries. A falling out with his father years ago drove him to work for the enemy. We’re not clear on what exactly happened but such is the power of Tywin Lannister. He can make anything that puts the family in a bad light go away. Jaime Lannister was a double major in Physics and Chemistry at Westeros University. He’s never worked for his father. Before he joined Targaryen, he was one of the scientists involved in the Wildfyre project. From the dossier Agent Baratheon gathered on him, he seems like one of the good guys, but who knows what three years can do. Currently, he heads the research and development department of Targaryen Industries.”

“We traced the alert from there,” Sam said.

“And a distress signal that I know very well,” Brienne said. “It was Agent Baratheon’s.”

“We have reason to believe that Renly Baratheon was going to turn Jaime Lannister into an asset. Nevertheless, we have to take into account as to why he never came forward and why he’s with the Targaryens. I don’t know if he can be trusted,” Catelyn said, looking at each of them in the eye.  
“That’s why he must be brought in. Find out what he knows. That is our mission. Procure the asset and secure Wildfyre.”


	2. Radical Acquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the spies slip into their covers, Brienne is tasked to procure an object to make their infiltration possible.

Because of Renly’s connection to Jaime Lannister, and they weren’t sure what the latter knew, it was decided that Brienne would direct the operation from the van with Sam, who was overseeing the tech, while Robb, Jon and Daario were undercover. 

Brienne had Sam hack into the security personnel files to find information about staff and use it. They placed a call to one Meryn Trant about his mother breaking her hip in the shower. Meryn Trant quickly placed a call to work, telling them of his situation. Thanks to Sam’s talent, Jon was called to replace Trant as security guard for the day. Jon reported to work in uniform: a blood-red shirt with a black tie, black cargo pants tucked in black boots. He discovered that if the back end of the heels were tapped together, out came a blade from the tip. He walked to Meryn Trant’s spot as if nothing were amiss, standing by the scanners in the lobby. 

Targaryens were known for having madness in the family. In Viserys’ case, he had extreme paranoia and immediately fired those he feared were out to get him. This would make an unpopular employer. What he did was have his DNA imbedded in all the employees’ ID bar code. This way it would be hard to replicate or fake, and if someone attempted to enter Targaryen Corporations without the proper identity, he was to be arrested immediately and held for as long as Viserys wanted. 

The DNA made it impossible for them to create their own ID. The next solution was radical acquisition.

Also known as stealing.

Luckily, Brienne had changed out of her suit and into a gray hoodie and a lacy dark blue camisole. She lowered the zipper to her small breasts, knowing that while their cup size (which she hardly had) that got a man’s attention, it was the promise of exposed skin that held it. She fluffed her blond hair as she entered a coffee shop during the lunch, scanning the room casually yet in truth, she was looking for her target.

Karl Tanner was one of the scientists for the company. His hair was black, his skin pale and his face bony and hard. His eyes were dark yet he had trouble looking at people in the eye and would much rather peer through a microscope all day. He was unmarried, had no pets, did not have a lot of friends. He spent his weekends gaming. The shy ones were easy. Predictable. Sure enough, at fifteen minutes past one, he entered the coffee shop and ordered his usual, tuna on rye with iced tea. 

The lunch crowd was thick but Brienne counted on that. She took note of security cameras and was glad that the spot the scientist chose wasn’t in range. She moved through the people, turning this way and that and soon, she was standing before Karl Tanner, her hoodie unzipped, the sleeve slipping just enough to show the thin, lace strap and pale, freckled skin. Her teeth were crooked so instead she gave him a friendly, close-lipped smile before unleashing the full force of the persona tailored to his interests.

“Hi,” Brienne said, speaking to him in a breathy voice reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe’s, “I’m so sorry to bother you but would you mind if I sit with you? The line is so long and I’d much rather rest my feet before ordering. I’ve been walking all day.” As she spoke, she lowered herself on a chair.

And slyly, she slipped her foot a little off her shoe. Tanner’s eyes immediately went there, immediately noticing the high, pink arch. He licked his lips.

Men were just weird. If they weren’t into breasts, it was feet, she thought, keeping her smile innocent. She even batted her lashes at him when he glanced at her before he looked away and blushed.

“Yes. Uh, go ahead.”

“My name is Christie. Who are you?” And surprising him, she reached for the ID hanging off his lanyard. “Karl Tanner.” She made sure to linger on his first name.

“Uh, yes,” he said. 

“Research and development,” Brienne read aloud his department as indicated on his ID. “What do you research? And what do you develop?”

She leaned forward as if to tell him a secret.

He chuckled but sounded like he was coughing. “I really, you know, can’t talk about that.”

“Ooh. Top-secret then?”

“Yes.”

Brienne shifted closer. Still smiling at him, she casually moved her hand toward his ear, before lightly pressing her fingers on the spot right below it and above his jaw. Karl Tanner looked at her curiously. His breathing had hitched up and sweat beaded his upper lip.

“Can I tell you a secret, Karl?” She asked him.

He nodded. She knew what he was thinking: _She’s not pretty but she seems to want me._

Then she pressed. Firmly.

His eyes closed and he fell right on his sandwich. Brienne quickly unhooked his ID and strolled out of the coffee shop. 

As soon as she was back in the van, Daario took the ID and immediately replaced it with Robb’s photo and alias, Ramsay Bolton. Then Sam took hand scans and retinal scans. As Robb got dressed in a baggy, cheap suit, Daario left the van to reset the cables and do some rewiring to enable Sam’s hack.

Their earpieces clicked and Daario’s voice came on. “Done.”

“That’s my cue, “ Robb said and he slipped out of the van. 

“Crow,” Brienne said to the earpiece, speaking to Jon.

“Tell me.”

“Wolf’s on the way.” 

“Fucking firewalls,” Sam grumbled as a series of colors and characters filled the screen. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Give me a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute. Wolf’s at the front door,” Brienne told him.

“Gimme a minute!” Sam insisted.

“Approaching Crow in five, four, three, two—“ Robb was saying when the doors opened and Daario swooped in.

“Done,” Sam gasped, momentarily putting his hands together in prayer before proceeding to type. “Fucking seven hells, I did it.”

“Wolf’s on the move,” Jon told them.

“Just act casual,” Brienne reminded Robb through the earpiece. “Observe and procure the Damsel and the Wildfyre. “Damsel was the codename they assigned Jaime Lannister. 

“I’m off to meet with vicious Viserys,” Daario said, looking at his watch. 

He sat by Brienne’s feet as he spoke. Without warning, he yanked off his sweater and started unbuckling his belt. He smiled at Brienne, who frowned at him. Daario Naharis was tanned and muscular, his shoulders and chest riddled with scars collected from who only knew where. 

Missions, wars, who cared? Brienne understood the appeal of scarred men and she certainly knew how to appreciate the male form. However, she wasn’t tempted to take a second look, secretly or obviously. She scowled as he grinned at her before his face disappeared in the shirt he was putting on. 

“Remember you can not leave that office without the wildfyre,” Brienne told him as he started knotting a tie. 

“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Daario told her. He reached for pants next. 

Daario was going to pose as an independent defense coordinator. Brienne thought it was too risky a cover—there was little they knew of Viserys Targaryen , other than his madness and his DNA on employees’ IDs. The next best thing was his known associates. Despite her almost ten years in WCA, Brienne couldn’t stop the chill that reached down her spine. 

She ran through the list in her head: Boros Blount, who was dismissed from the army for “acts of inhumanity” and thus not befitting a soldier.” Despite being a man without honor Blount managed to establish and command a mercenary agency, a private, quasi-military unit used extensively by the government of Westeros. There was no clear proof yet that he specialized in protecting warlords and slavers.

There was Mandon Moore, whose origins were mysterious and dubious at best. Blount was also an associate, and he had close ties to Yunkai, which was a stronghold of slavers called the Ghiscars. 

Probably the most worrisome in the bunch was Gregor Clegane. A descendant of House Clegane, who were nothing more but glorified goons who murdered anyone so long as the money was good, and did it bloodily, controlled the mob in Westeros. Despite being a known criminal, Clegane always got away unscathed, be it on some technicality or having people wiped off the face of the earth completely.

They were meeting with Viserys Targaryen this afternoon and from the intelligence gathered, it was going to be “a report on recent developments.” Everyone in the team knew what that meant. Viserys Targaryen was going to sell Wildfyre to the highest bidder. The group was tight, not easily infiltrated. Thus, Daario was posing as Jorah Mormont, an arms dealer now within the Black Cells. Robb had been the one to gather the intelligence they were using for Daario’s cover—which included blue contacts lenses, a sandy-brown wig and an accent. He had shaved off his beard. 

Every mission was dangerous but Brienne did not like this part one bit. And with Daario, whom they knew little about, who was only assigned to their division and did not volunteer, Daario who almost compromised their lives during an assignment when he decided to ignore Robb’s screaming orders to abort and went through a mob of protesters to secure an asset. Brienne had to pull him out and suffered a broken cheekbone, several broken ribs and a bruised spine as a result. Daario was sanctioned and suspended for three months. When he returned, all he said to Brienne was, “We had a job to do.” She believed that, the Seven knew she did, but how far did that go if it meant an agent nearly losing her life? 

“You’ll stick to the cover, Daario. No prancing, no being you,” she reminded him as he finished dressing.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Fuck you. I’m serious.”

“So am I. Stop hovering. I know how to do this.”

“That I’ll believe when it’s actually done.”

He looked at her.

“Procure the Wildfyre. You are not responsible for the extraction,” Brienne told him, meeting his stare unblinkingly. 

“You have my word, team leader,” he said just before leaving.

“Dragon’s in the building,” Jon’s voice came through the earpiece. He was referring to Viserys.

“I’m at the site,” Robb said a few seconds later. Brienne glanced at Sam’s computer, which showed a layout of the building and tracked where the agents weret this moment. Jon kept to his post, reporting those coming and going. Robb had reached the research & development floor. His primary mission was to get Jaime Lannister out but he was also the back-up in case Daario failed in acquiring the wildfire.. Daario’s tracking device showed him approaching the revolving glass doors. 

“I’m going to need some help here,” Robb was speaking just above a whisper. His signal showed him walking down the hallway. “The offices aren’t labelled and the lights on the doorknob indicate you need a code to get through any one of them. I’m also going to need to know where the package is hidden.” 

“Hold on. I’ll find out where it is,” Sam said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Then he said, “It’s located on the third door to your right. Other right. The access key is 5, 4, 28, 14, 19. Punch it in.”

“Done.”

“You’ll find it in one of the cabinets there. The code is 36, 82, 40, 17, 11, 3, 64.”

“Door’s opening.”

“What are you doing?” Robb’s earpiece picked up another voice. 

Sam gasped, “No.”

“Shit,” Brienne swore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DNA on an ID? I know. I know. 
> 
> All characters by George RR Martin. I know nothing and own nothing.


	3. Brown-Eyed Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Known for sniffing out the blood of the enemy, Robb Stark is unsure for the first time as he faces an unlikely member of Viserys Targaryen's company.
> 
> This chapter is a Robb POV.

As a sniper for the military, Robb Stark was used to working alone and taking orders jammed in his ear. Being a government agent was not the next step he envisioned himself taking when he was honourably discharged four years ago.  
Working in the armed forces was a tradition for the men of the Stark family. His grandfather rose to the rank of captain before getting killed in action, his father, Ned, was a four-star general before his current position as an adviser in the Small Council of the President, Olenna Tyrell. His uncle Benjen was First Ranger in the elite Night’s Watch. His mother, Catelyn, was the first in her family to work for the government, first as an analyst for Westeros Central Agency before she switched divisions and became an agent. Now she was the director of The Golden Company, a black ops unit whose the entire staff was voluntary. 

A year after leaving the military, Robb found himself restless. All he wanted was the quiet life, and he got it by teaching Valyrian languages in University of Westeros. Maybe because it was ingrained in him, maybe because it was the only life he knew, but he couldn’t stand being on the sidelines. He was raised to be a man of action and to make things happen. But the military was out for him—he had done all he wanted to do there. He talked with his mother and she suggested he could look in to being an operative for the government.

This meant he was back to square one. Training and honing his mind and body to face head-on the brutality of the job. His background as a sniper came in handy as every test that involved guns and other ammunition had him acing it. He was methodical, good at taking orders yet still had enough of a mind of his own, resourceful—excellent qualities in an agent. However, his psychological tests and interviews revealed him to be too cold, to the point of being almost machine-like with his exactness and his ability to never be swayed by the smallest sliver of emotion. He tracked and backed the enemy in the corner like a wolf, as if with an inborn sense to scent blood and betrayal, then attacked, swiftly, viciously. This made him the go-to person when having to extract answers and information from the most resistant of the enemy brought in. Devices and drugs were the last resort—Robb Stark knew how to get in their minds and use it against them.

It might be odd to say he loved his job. But Robb didn’t see his position at WCA as one. It was a duty, honourable, difficult but he had always thrived in such environments. It never bothered him he was never going to be acknowledged. What was important was the bad guys were bagged and tagged and put away, making the world a little more safe while they rotted in the Black Cells. Doing this gave him a lot of satisfaction and a strong sense of fulfilment. Yet he wanted more. 

That was when the agency formed The Golden Company.

It might be odd to have your mother as boss but Catelyn Stark had given him no special treatment, neither did he expect it. The murmurs and whispers regarding nepotism was loud until Robb proved to them he deserved to be a member of the team.

Used to working alone, he had trouble fitting in with the team at first. He thought Jon Snow too grim, and sometimes thought he was Elder Brother because he seemed to have no other life outside of the agency. He seemed to at the office at all hours. Robb respected dedication but recognized the need to get away from a stressful job every now and then. 

Brienne Tarth he respected at first sight. She inspired command without having to speak. He knew that some agents disregarded her for not having conventional looks but he knew that this did not bother her. He thought her eyes pretty but never thought they were wasted on a face that so mismatched it. She was lethal in the field, a killing machine. Robb had wanted to kill Daario Naharis last year when the latter stubbornly still pursued an asset despite being repeatedly told to abandon the mission. Brienne, who did not believe in leaving any member of the team alone, went after Daario and got seriously hurt. Robb demanded to Catelyn for Daario’s removal from the team. She was just as upset over what happened to Brienne but told him that her hands were tied being that Daario Naharis’ presence was a directive straight from Howland Reed.

Daario Naharis, Robb didn’t trust. Overconfident, cocky men will always compromise the team and its mission. He thought Naharis deserved his codename, Sellsword. History taught that sellswords had no loyalty, after all. 

Samwell Tarly reminded Robb of a boy picked on by bullies in high school. He was fat and awkward, seemed only comfortable talking to people in a meeting and Brienne and Jon. But he was a whiz with computers and weapons. It surprised Robb that Sam’s background involved industrial engineering and mathematics, not computers at all. He would confess to Robb later on that he was a hacker before joining WCA. He got on the government’s radar when he hacked into the Social Security system “for kicks.” 

They may be a team of oddballs and excepting Daario, Robb trusted all of them to get the mission done as well as to look out for him when in the field. He couldn’t fathom now how he did all those military missions alone and without missing a single shot. He could end an enemy with a single bullet to the head at five hundred yards. As long as he had a gun, he was sure.

Yet today, Robb Stark, who had never been wrong in identifying an enemy under the most clever of disguises, found himself unsure for the first time as he looked in the wide, round brown eyes of the woman looking at him. 

Her dark brown hair was long and pulled back in a loosened braid. Her eyebrows were dark, longish wings over eyes that tilted at the corners. Her cheeks were delicate and smooth. On her small face was a small pair of lips, thin on top and full at the bottom. She wore a white lab coat like he did, She had turned away from the table where she was working. She sat on a stool and was facing the computer, typing, when she must have heard him talk.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp. Robb’s ears perked up at the accent. _Volantis._

Recovering as quickly as he could, Robb read aloud her name on the tag at the left pocket of her coat. “Talisa Maegyr.”

In his ear, Sam said, “Copy. How do you spell that?”

Then Brienne was speaking. “We’re going to need more than that, Wolf.”

“Nuclear physicist,” Robb said, reading the smaller set of words under her name.

“That will do,” Brienne said.

“This is a restricted area,” Talisa Maegyr told him. “How did you get in?”

“She reports directly to the Damsel,” Brienne told Robb. “She’s Volantean. She’s an expert in nuclear studies. Started working for the company two years ago. Possible Dragon loyalties.” 

This was code for having close ties to Viserys Targaryen whose nature was yet to be determined.

“She’s smart but a little clumsy,” Brienne added.

Robb smiled at the scientist. “The door was ajar.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice softening. From the way she sounded, this occurred on a regular basis. “Yeah, that tends to happen. I’m easily distracted. But you can’t be in here. It’s only me and Dr. Lannister who has access.”

“Pardon me, Dr. Maegyr. It’s my first day.”

She frowned. “I didn’t know there was going to be a new scientist in the team.”

Robb tapped the nameplate on his coat. “Ramsay Bolton.”

“Wolf,” Brienne admonished him in the ear, “you know how to get in should you need to return. Get out of there and _find the Damsel._ ”

“Well, Ramsay Bolton, again, you can’t be in here. Sorry," Talisa told him.

“Sorry. But may I ask what you’re working on?”

She shook her head but was smiling at him.

Brienne spoke loudly, _“Damn it, Wolf. Find and secure the Damsel!”_

Robb winced and rubbed his ear.

“What’s wrong?” Talisa asked.

“Nothing. Just curious. I hope I see more of you.”

“You will.”

“So you can’t show me around?”

 _“Wolf,”_ Brienne growled. _“You’re endangering the mission.”_

“I really must get back to work, Dr. Bolton.”

That woke him up. Robb smiled again. “No worries. But maybe we can have lunch in the cafeteria sometime.” He turned away and headed for the door when Talisa called him.

“Uh, Dr. Bolton?”

“Yes, Dr. Maegyr?”

“Could we, um, keep this between us? The door thing? I’ve been told many times to be more careful.”

“As long as we see each other again.”

“Maybe” and Talisa Maegyr went back to work.

“Apologies,” Robb murmured as he found himself back in the empty hallway. He squared his shoulders and resolutely looked ahead. “Tell me where the Damsel is.”

Daario groaned. “He’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is never where he's supposed to be, damn it.


	4. Procurement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daario POV.  
> Jaime and Viserys present Wildfyre.

Slipping on a new face and assuming another alias had always come easy to Daario Naharis. Every mission was dangerous and every one could be your last. But nothing made Daario feel safer and braver than when he became someone else.

Still, becoming someone else was tricky. Especially when it was someone as shady as Jorah Mormont.

The contacts were hell in Daario’s eyeballs, the lenses scratching at the watery surface due to the dry air of the cool room. The wig, often the most uncomfortable, was the easiest thing so far, and he didn’t have to pad up his frame as his build was strongly similar to the arms dealer currently rotting away deep in the Black Cells. His eyes were tearing. He had to be careful. If he rubbed them, he might pop out a contact and the cover, the mission was blown.  
But it wasn’t a little bit of plastic that he had to worry about, it turned out. How could he forget? Out in the field, no matter how prepared and quick-think you were, something always happens to throw off the plan.

Jaime Lannister’s presence in the conference room threw off the entire plan.

Daario, in his disguise, was recognized on first sight by an assistant of Viserys.’ She was a small, dark-haired woman, with delicate, girlish features. She wore a blood-red blazer over a white blouse and black, slim-fitting trousers. She had greeted him as soon as he left the elevator, “Mr. Mormont,” she said, smiling at him. “If you will follow me.”

He had memorized the blueprints of the building, so he was surprised when she pressed a well-concealed button on the wall and it opened, revealing that it was a door. 

This room was not in the blueprints.

It certainly wasn’t on the report the Wolf dragged out of Mormont.

Viserys Targaryen’s conference room was grim and spare, with dark gray walls, a long, black-lacquered conference table and plush, dark red chairs flanking its entire length.

“Ah, the Targaryen colors, of course,” Daario spoke, the synthesizer taped on his throat and concealed by the collar of his shirts giving him a rasp. 

“Careful. The Adviser isn’t the talkative sort,” Brienne cautioned him in his ear. The Adviser was their code name for Jorah Mormont.

“Forgive me, but I seem to not have caught your name,” Daario told the woman.

“It’s Doreah, sir.” The girl blushed. 

“Tell me, Doreah,” Daario said, “what prize does one get from being the first?

“The first?”

“To arrive for the meeting, of course.” 

“You’ve never asked me that before, sir.”

“They’ve met,” Brienne breathed. “Gods. How could we have missed that?”

“You’re always quiet,” Doreah continued. “You hardly speak. This is the first time you’ve spoken to me.”

“But definitely not the last I will see you. Hopefully, beyond this room. I see Viserys has great love for black and red.”

“What the fuck are you on?” Sam asked him in the earpiece.

“I will be happy to walk you out when your meeting is over, sir,” Doreah said, still blushing. 

“So you won’t be staying? You’ll leave me all alone in this strange, dreadful room?”

Brienne and Sam quickly caught on. “Where are you?” Brienne asked. 

“Maybe I’ll keep you in, sir,” Doreah said, meeting his eyes with her dark gaze then dropping them. “After all, the button answers to my fingerprint. Before I leave, is there anything I can get you, sir?” 

Daario grinned. “Anything?”

The clicking in his earpiece told him Brienne had come on. “You’re on a mission. Sellsword.”

The brunette nodded gracefully. “Indeed, sir. Anything.”

“It appears I have no need of anything but thank you for the offer.”

She gave him another smile and left.

“Don’t speak, do not move from your seat,” Brienne told him. “We’re not sure what kind of security the room has. Cough if you can hear me and clear your throat when you’re in trouble. Cough twice to warn us if you’re about to do something.”

So Daario remained in his seat. He assumed a bored look on his face when Boros Blount entered. Boros was a huge man with thin, dark hair and small, beady eyes. He was closely followed by Mandon Moore, gaunt and looking as sharp as a knife. Gregor Clegane rounded up their group. He was bigger than Blount,  
and look cruel with his narrow black eyes, beard and the menace and malevolence promised with his every step.

“Mormont,” he told Daario. “I thought you dead.”

“I lay low for a while,” Daario said. “You heard how I was nearly caught?”

“Yes. But what I heard was you got caught.” Clegane sat down next to Daario. “So what is it, Mormont? You spying for the enemy now? Have they turned you?  
“For what? Service to the country? Fuck, no. I like money too much. And I was never arrested. Never even questioned. I knocked out that big blond bitch who tried to get me.”

“Thanks a lot,” Brienne muttered.

“Big, blond bitch,” Clegane mused. “You let a woman get you?”

“Bigger than me and taller. Monstrous.” Daario shuddered.

“That’s enough. Clegane’s trying to trip you up,” Brienne said.

“All agents are bitches but they don’t come blond and big that often,” Clegane said, chuckling. “Wonder how it is to fuck a cunt like that. If the bitch has a cunt, not a cock.”

“I didn’t stick around to find out.”

Clegane smirked. It made him look more cruel. “I would. One, to check if that agent has a cunt and two, so she doesn’t forget.”

“This guy is sick,” Sam whispered.

Daario didn’t know what to say to that, not when the subject of their conversation was listening in. Fortunately, Viserys Targaryen arrived.  
He looked more dangerous and vicious in person. Lean, with sharp, too-striking features, with a sweeping motion in his arms and an almost-playful, mocking gait, Viserys Targaryen looked to be just playing a game. A game where he pulled all the strings. 

His hair was blond and long, hanging to his shoulders. His violet eyes looked soulless, empty pools that only flashed with life upon seeing who was waiting for him. His grin reminded Daario of a shark as his eyes fell on him.

“Mormont,” Viserys spread his arms as he sat down at the head of the table. “I didn’t think to see you again.”

Viserys didn’t wear suits like they did. Rather he was wearing a long, tailored overcoat in blood-red velvet, with slim, black pants. Instead of a tie, he wore a heavy, gold dragon brooch with ruby eyes.

“I couldn’t be here sooner than if I tried,” Daario replied.

“The idiot here was nearly caught by government agents last year,” Blount laughed. “Barely got away from, ah, how did you put it, Mormont? Big, blond, bitch, I believe, is how you said it.”

“I have my own blond bitch,” Viserys sounded bored. “Most troublesome. Cries all the time. There’s no quieting mine.”

Daario’ ears perked up just as Brienne gasped. “Is he talking about—“

“If we’re done comparing the pros and cons of blond bitches, perhaps we can move on to our agenda,” Daario said, coughing. He turned to Viserys. “You advised us of the utmost urgency and now we’re here. What do you have for us this time? Is there anything my client would kill to have?”  
“Kill to have,” Viserys said softly. He looked at the men seated around him, his violet eyes seemed to gleam black then red under the lights. “I have the ultimate weapon.”

He said it almost gleefully, like a child bragging to his playmates that he had the season’s most coveted toy. Daario almost expected him to start clapping.  
“Such a beautiful, efficient, error-free weapon, this creation of mine,” Daario said almost reverently. “It is the weapon to end all. And I mean all, gentlemen.”  
Then he tapped the button on the intercom. “Doreah, get ready. Send Dr. Lannister in.”

At that moment, Robb’s voice spoke in Daario’s ear. “Tell me where the Damsel is.”

Daario coughed and whispered. “He’s here.”

The door opened, revealing Jaime Lannister and Doreah. 

Gone was the scruffy, tired-looking man in their file photo. The Jaime Lannister who stood before them had his hair brushed back from his forehead. Gold was the shade of his hair, rich and thick, and just about brushing his broad shoulders. His green eyes were alert and clear, meeting every man’s stare directly as Doreah prepared a laptop and put a small, silver canister on the table. It was roughly the size of an eyeglass case and slimmer.

“Gentlemen,” Jaime Lannister said, nodding at them. He straightened his navy blue suit jacket, glancing at Doreah as she opened the laptop. She gave a quick nod and quietly let herself out of the room.

“Jaime Lannister started as an assistant in a project spearheaded by Maegor Targaryen. Maegor discovered Substance-82, a very volatile element that took years and years to be in the form that you see now,” Viserys said, gesturing with his palm at the small canister Doreah had left behind. “It wasn’t the easiest transforming it the way you see it now. Weaponizing it has been a challenge, wasn’t it, Dr. Lannister?”

“A challenge that seemed to have no end,” Jaime agreed. “If you will, I would like to walk you through the creation of this—“ and his eyes glittered like raw emeralds—“masterpiece.”

Daario did not realize he had been holding his breath until he let it out. Discreetly, he adjusted the watch he wore on his wrist. It looked like a typical watch, golden, expensive, and discreet but Sam had added an extra feature—aside from being able to shoot a slim laser blast when the face was turned right, when it was turned left, it served as a voice recorder.

Coughing, he placed his left arm on the table, the better to record Jaime Lannister.

Blount raised an eyebrow at him. “You should see someone about that cough, Mormont.” 

“It’s going around,” Daario said, swallowing.

Jaime gave the men in the room another glance before he launched into his presentation of Substance 82, or Wildfyre. He opened the laptop, striking a few keys before the screen behind him flashed a presentation.

His explanation was to the point, his voice clipped as he walked them through the stages of the development of Wildfyre. Volatile, unpredictable, “living fire,” as he put it, raw Wildfyre was dangerous as it could hardly be controlled, resisting water, sand, even numerous blasts from a fire extinguisher. There was an awesome power behind it, one that needed to be tapped and contained. “Else anyone in possession of Wildfyre, without understanding it, puts everyone on high risk. This is why the research with the university was abandoned after a fire in the lab. But we were able to save the entire research so we did not have to start from square one.”

“How did that happen?” Brienne wondered aloud. “I swear Jon and I removed all traces of the research.”

“If I may interrupt,” Daario said. “Would you care to enlighten us about the fire in the university? I myself am surprised that not only was there extant research left but everything pertaining to it.” 

“Maegor taught me about the importance of insurance,” Viserys answered, looking smug. “Every step, every advance in the research, was to be recorded and the company be provided with a copy, not just updates. We were funding the project, after all. We had it put in the contract. We were to see every research done before the scientists in the project did.”

“Seven hells,” Brienne swore in Daario’s ear. He rubbed it.

“If there are no more questions, I would like to continue,” Jaime said politely. But from the slight lines between his brows that showed as he frowned, he did not appreciate the interruption, even when he had allowed it.

He then went on to expound how they were able to learn to control Wildfyre and early experiments. 

“Westeros is always on the lookout for the next weapons of mass destruction, as well as Essos. We are on the brink of a war, gentlemen. All it takes is for one country to have the better weapon to eliminate the other. But it’s not a country that has it but Targaryen Industries. Targaryen Industries is foremost a service. . .to those who believe in fire and blood.”

At that, he typed something on the laptop. “Let me show you what we have done.”  
A video feed from what Daario recognized was the reception area outside the conference room started to play. It showed Doreah at her desk, typing.  
“A weapon for mass destruction need not be messy. We’ve done that. The big explosions. Noise. Fire. No, what you want,” Viserys said, looking at each man in the eye, “is a weapon that does things cleanly. No spectacle. Delivers the message but. . .untraceable.” He reached for Jaime’s laptop. “If you don’t mind, Dr. Lannister.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Targaryen.”

Doreah was writing something on her notebook as she spoke to someone on her cellphone. She had her back to them but her voice reached them as if she was right there. Daario realized that her area was bugged. 

And Viserys Targaryen was right to suspect her.

“---I did what you asked,” Doreah was saying furtively on the phone. “I put devices in the room to record their meeting. But please, no more. I’m so scared. That’s five criminals in the room and a trigger-happy lunatic. I need to get out—you promised me you’ll get me out—“  
Viserys, typing on the computer, said grimly. “And you will, my dear.”

Suddenly, Doreah’s gasps filled the room. Her body lurched forward, smashing against her desk as she shook and shuddered violently. She screamed as she fell to the floor, seizing, wide-eyed and afraid. People from other desks ran to her but stopped when they saw what was happening to her, shocked. On and on Doreah fought the tremors that seized her body but there was no way she was winning. Not when what felt like the very breath of the dragon ran in her veins and spread towards her rapidly beating heart, a heart that seemed to gasp with her when it suddenly stopped.

Then Doreah was still. Greenish smoke drifted from her lips. Her co-workers started rousing her awake but it was too late.

“That,” Viserys said, leaning back in his chair, smiling hugely, “is Wildfyre at work. In this little thing, is something that would guarantee victory in future wars,” he continued, picking up the cannister and twisting it open. Removing the cap, he showed them that it a green, gel-like substance the size of a small bullet.  
“From the moment that poor woman touched this, she put her DNA on it. I only had to trigger the Wildfyre on her fingertips. We have also found a way to upload the target’s DNA in this candy so that when it’s triggered, the person goes the same way as my former, fucking cunt of an assistant just did,” Viserys said, looking behind him and making a tut-tut sound. “Just imagine how pleasant our life would be without having to look over our shoulder,” he told them, turning back to them. “Just imagine teaching your enemies a lesson they will never forget.”

 _How the fuck was he going to secure the fucking Wildfyre if just touching it got his DNA? How was he going to get that and Jaime fucking Lannister out of the building?_ Daario thought. He tried to keep his expression cool as Viserys recounted how he began to suspect Doreah of betraying him to the press, that she deserved to burn from the inside.

He ignored the war within him.

Daario cleared his throat. 

Robb growled. "Fuck." 

“Get ready,” Brienne told them.

"I'm in position," Robb said.

"Approaching," Jon spoke. "ETA thirty-five seconds." 

Daario coughed. 

One word was all it took from Brienne. "Sword."

Five seconds later, alarm bells rang.

The lights went out. 

Daario sprang from his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at the edge of my seat like you are. 
> 
> A weapon that targets you by DNA! Just enjoy the ride.


	5. Oathkeeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is taken and the interrogation begins--but it doesn't go as planned.

Brienne and Sam held their breaths as they listened to the recording Daario was making. Sam’s eyes were wide when Viserys spoke about his “former, fucking cunt of an assistant” with stomach-turning relish. 

“He’s killed her,” Sam whispered. 

“Get Crow and Wolf to approach Sellsword,” Brienne ordered, tapping into her earpiece. 

While Brienne was in contact with Daario, Sam instructed Robb and Jon on the next part of the extraction. He had panicked when Daario entered a room that had not been in the blueprints, which meant their signal might be compromised. It still worked fine but there was no radio, no other means of communication. He told Robb and Jon were to position themselves and to wait for Brienne’s signal.

When Daario cleared his throat, Brienne shot to her feet. “Almost ready, Sellsword,” she said, stepping out of the van. She clicked on her earpiece. “Come in, Wolf, Crow. Come in.”

“We’ve just arrived at the floor,” Jon murmured. “There’s emergency personnel. What’s happened? It’s just walls and receiving area.”

“The signal tracks Sellsword there.” Sam was typing like mad on the computer. “Hold on. I think I found it. Yes, I believe that’s the room. If I can disable the alarm it will open. I’ll have to kill the power.”

Brienne, who was walking towards the back of the building, said, “We'll take advantage of the current chaos there. Upon my order, Slayer.”

“Acknowledged.”

She found the door of the fire exit. “Kill the power.”

In the next instant, a thousand alarms seem to ring at once. “Slayer, what the hell—“

“I tripped something! Hold on, cutting the power—now.” 

As soon as the power out, Brienne yanked the door open of the fire exit and began the long run up the fifteenth floor.

“Oathkeeper at the stairs. Status!” She demanded as she took the steps three at a time, almost leaping up every staircase by a single bound.

“Aggressive resistance ongoing!” Robb yelled.

“Get him out of here!” Jon was shouting.

“Damsel—“Daario huffed—“almost secured!”

“The fuck you’re calling Damsel—“ Jaime Lannister raged followed by the sure smash of a fist on bone and his gasp of pain.

“Oathkeeper, we need you here!” Jon growled.

“ETA two minutes!” Brienne cried out as she cleared the tenth floor.

“We won’t be here in two minutes!” Daario groaned. “Fuck, this Damsel is a slippery trout! He’s coming your way!”

_“What?”_

“I’m in pursuit!” 

Brienne pumped her arms hard and summoned all the power she had in her legs to propel her up the last five flights of stairs. She was approaching the tenth floor when she heard a door slamming from a couple of flights up. She quickly flattened herself against a wall and waited for the running footsteps to approach her.

“Where the fuck are you, Oathkeeper?” Jon demanded.

“Possible sighting of the asset,” Brienne murmured.

She ducked under the stairs as the footsteps got louder. As soon as she saw sunlight falling on a golden head and a pair of wide shoulders, she lunged toward him.

Jaime Lannister tried to turn away as soon as he saw her, his eyes widening in shock, but she was faster, too fast. Brienne’s body slammed onto him and sent them both sliding across the landing. They were only stopped when Jaime’s shoulder slammed against a step and Brienne’s forehead f hit the wall. Her vision swam.

She shook off the cartoon stars dancing before her eyes, which gave Jaime opportunity to crawl away from her, groaning. Brienne reached out to grab his leg but he slipped away from her. Once again she threw her body toward his.

This time, they flew down the stairs.

Jaime’s body turned violently, legs up one second, then his head, and then his legs again. Brienne managed to tuck herself into a ball, so only her shoulders and the sides of her hips and thighs got the brunt of the fall. Too late did she realize she was rolling right towards Jaime’s sprawled body on the floor. He held up his hands, a futile attempt from her speeding body. Brienne groaned as her forehead knocked on his chin and her knee fell right on his groin.  
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jaime growled, struggling under her. Brienne used her superior strength to yank his arms above his head and pinned his legs tight with her own legs. His eyes were wild and he breathed hard against her mouth, letting her know that his breath was minty-cool, and it smelled faintly of coffee and cinnamon.

“Let go of me, let me go—“ he grunted, trying to shake Brienne off. 

Brienne struggled, because though she was bigger and heavier, being pressed so closely to him, she felt the hard ridges and bulges of his muscles. Jaime Lannister was no lightweight, certainly not the weakling in his file photo. 

“Stop moving or I’ll hurt you,” Brienne snapped, tightening her grip on his wrists. But Jaime, determined to get away, bent his body as if to throw her off.  
And brought his mouth right on her breast.

Brienne froze, realizing that in their tussle, her hoodie had slipped down her arm and the strap of her tank had torn. The neckline gaped loose, hanging down her chest and revealing the small, heavily freckled mound of one breast tipped with a tight, pink nipple.

And pressed right on Jaime Lannister’s hot, cinnamon mouth.

“Fuck me,” he said, surprised. His lips moved against her breast. “You’re a woman.”

“Shut up.”

Brienne backhanded him, knocking him out. As she got to her feet, Jon, Robb and Daario came thundering down the stairs.

Seeing her torn clothes, Jon frowned. “What the hell happened?”

“He’s a slippery trout, you said,” Brienne answered, fighting determinedly against the blush that was beginning to heat her from cheeks to chest. She angrily pulled the sleeve of her hoodie back to her shoulder and zipped it to her throat. Realizing that the three men were still staring at her and at the unconscious Jaime, she rolled her eyes.

“You’re being ridiculous. Let’s get him out of here,” Brienne told them reaching down to pull Jaime up to a sitting position. He groaned and began to fall back.  
Daario quickly began to help her, putting his arm under Jaime’s shoulder just like Brienne was doing . Together, the four rushed down the stairs.

“For your information,” Robb told Brienne as they pulled the door of the van open, “we have the Wildfyre.”

Hauling the blonde scientist into the men took all four of them. Jaime Lannister was muscled but lean, six-foot-two and seemed to weigh close to two hundred pounds. The four of them were soon grunting and sweating as they yanked and dragged and finally dropped him on the floor of the van, right by Sam’s sneakers. 

Brienne stood over him, her feet still on the ground as he started regaining consciousness. His green eyes fluttered open wincing at the darkness, wincing at the too bright sun that fell on a pale, straw-blond head. Blue eyes the color of sapphires glared down at him.

Brienne scowled as he squinted up at her, one side of his lips quirked into a smile. An arrogant, all-knowing smile.

“You’re much uglier in daylight.”

Jon’s fist had gone and left Jaime’s square jaw before any of them realized what had happened. Unconscious once again, Jaime crashed on the floor of the van.

 

Due to their cargo, Sam drove the team to an underground parking lot. He was parking when Daario started handcuffing their asset around the hands, dragged the chains to lock his ankles next. Jon tore a wide swatch of duct tape from a roll and plastered it on his lips. Robb pulled a heavy black hood on him. Jaime woke up a moment later, sputtering and grunting as he tried to make sense of the blackness suddenly around him.

Brienne nodded at Daario, who roughly yanked him up. She swept open the door of the van, passing by him as she did.

Jaime sniffed under the mask. “You’re here, woman. I can tell. Nice soap. What do you want from me?”

As he spoke, he was pulled to his feet. Despite his restraints, Jaime still used his body to slam Jon against the van and butted his head at Daario. Brienne swung and kicked him right in the chest, sending him right to the ground. Then pressed her shoe on his throat.

Jaime started to gurgle.

“You’re in for a lot of hurt if you don’t cooperate,” she hissed. “Cooperate and we might let you live. Don’t and it ends now.”

“Ugh—don’t—no--live“ he managed to gasp. 

Brienne removed her foot from his throat. He coughed. She yanked him up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him towards Robb. This time, when they walked, Jaime was flanked by Daario and Jon at his sides, Robb at his back and Brienne in front. Sam led them towards the elevator. 

A series of scans and typed codes later, they were in the offices of The Golden Company division. Brienne continued leading them, past the curious who gaped at the masked asset shuffling after her and surrounded by other agents, and Catelyn Stark, whose lips were in a grim line as she watched their small procession. She caught Brienne’s eye and nodded. 

Brienne led them deeper into the office until she reached the door at the end of the hallway. Punching in a code, the door slid open. 

“Mine or yours?” Robb asked her as Jon and Daario chained Jaime to a chair. Daario yanked off the mask, making Jaime shake his head and close his eyes from the sudden blast of light in the room. Jon ripped the tape off his lips. Jaime swore. 

“Mine for now,” Brienne said, watching him struggle uselessly against his chains.

“I’ll be on comms.”

Robb left first, followed by Daario then Jon, who shot Jaime a look that would freeze anyone on the spot. Anyone but Jaime Lannister. Brienne took note of this as she closed the door behind her team and bolted it.

Jaime gestured at his hands and smiled innocently. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Brienne didn’t like this room, and having him in made it no better. Robb was the master of persuasion, able to manipulate have the enemy’s own mind turn against him. Too many men and women have been broken here. Lives ended to ensure the safety of the population of Westeros and its stability. Yet a small part in Brienne had always been revolted at the idea of using pain to extract answers.

She dragged a metal chair behind her so that she may sit across Jaime. As she walked towards him, she saw herself on the glass partition of the wall. Her hair was a wild, messy halo around her face, she had not changed out of her torn clothes. Despite the purple bruise on his cheek and chin, Jaime looked in much better shape than she did. 

She sat down and looked at him.

Jaime regarded her coolly. “Who are you and what do you want from me? Money? I don’t have any. I’ve got mortgage and am in desperate need of a new car. My father, on the other hand, shits gold. Alas, but he disowned me. So there’s nothing you can get from me, Blue.”

“I wouldn’t be sure about that, Mr. Lannister.”

“It’s Dr. Lannister to you, you idiot. I have a PhD.”

“I can kill a man with just a paper clip. Your PhD won’t save you from my hands.”

Jaime glanced at her hands and raised an eyebrow. “It certainly won't, Blue.”

She smiled. “Not unless they give me what I want.”

“And what might you want from a man such as I? Let’s see. Ah, you want to know if I’ll put my cock in you. You don’t have the prettiest mouth but in the dark, I wouldn’t care. You look strong. Your cunt won’t be soft, I think.” He appeared to give it consideration before grinning at her, his green eyes flashing. “But it would be so worth it to fuck a cunt like yours. Big woman like you would be a prized fuck. And as there are no men like me, Blue, you’ll love how I’ll make you feel like a woman.”

“Smash his teeth in, Brienne,” Robb’s voice in her ear almost startled Brienne. She mentally snapped herself out of the daze she’d slipped in from the moment she sat down before Jaime Lannister. How was it that she was suddenly warm from hearing such filthy things?

Keeping her face bland, she said, “If you’re done, I’d like us to get back to business.”

“I’ve no business with you,” Jaime snapped. “Do you have any idea what you’ve ruined? Years of work destroyed by the likes of you.”

“Oh, I ruined your work? You made the weapon that will destroy us all.”

“You think I had a choice?”

“Everyone has a choice. There are no excuses.”

“Blue, I didn’t have a choice. Not when the government orders me to go through with it.”

It was Catelyn who spoke. “What is he talking about?”

“The government, really? Which one? From what I heard, Targaryen Industries only cares about money, not for the country. Or any country.”

“You’re all brawn and no brain, alright. Westeros, you dumb idiot. Westeros Central Agency ordered me to go through with weaponizing Wildfyre. I sent out the signal as soon as that goddamn Viserys started organizing that fucking meeting. A meeting which you dragged me out of, a meeting that WCA forced me to be a part of.”

This was too much, all at once. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. “What signal?”

“A signal that taps out the words Oathkeeper, you moron.” 

Brienne’s heart stopped. Only one person knew--

“I was recruited three years ago by Renly Baratheon.” Jaime sounded impatient. “He told me, told me that it would happen, that I’d be taken as soon as WCA gets wind of what has happened with Wildfyre. He told me to expect to be taken by the likes of you. You’re exactly as he described, _Agent Tarth.”_


	6. The Executioner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mainly Catelyn Stark POV, with some Howland Reed.

On the outside, Catelyn Stark was the epitome of a woman who had climbed her way to the top in order to rule in a world often dominated by men. She was an attractive, elegant woman in her early fifties. Her hair was still a rich, thick auburn, cut in a blunt bob that just grazed her shoulders. She had a sharp, piercing dark blue gaze that unsettled even those who knew her well. She not only detected bullshit with near one hundred percent accuracy, it was also believed she could see through you. 

Law enforcement, the stepping stone for most agents of the WCA, was not where the then-Catelyn Tully began her climb to the echelons of the WCA. She majored in Essosi Studies and Culture in college. What put her on the government’s radar was her fluency in rare languages and dialects of Essos. This was a field not crowded with experts, and the few who were only knew a language or two. Catelyn Tully was fluent in all.

She started as one of the many analysts, a seemingly glamorous job but in truth one of the lowest-rung positions in the agency. Her work mainly focused on translation and research. On her second year, her superior asked her to take a qualifying exam for senior analyst. To this day, Catelyn Stark’s score remains the highest in the agency’s history.

As a senior analyst, she now listened in on missions, providing advice as well as invaluable extrapolation based on field reports. It soon became known that Catelyn Tully had a very sharp mind, and she remained cool under pressure. She never thought she’d want to leave the confines of an office but one day, she realized she did. She not only had to take a test to qualify as a government operative, she had to train for three years too. It wasn’t the easiest decision—she was engaged to be married to Ned Stark, then slowly rising through the military ranks himself. Attachments were also considered a liability, of which Ned understood perfectly well. But they were in love and strongly committed to each other, and got married as soon as she earned her badge. 

How Agent Catelyn Stark managed to serve and protect the country, be a wife and then a mother to five children was probably one of the greatest mysteries. Senior officers of WCA, very traditional and unapologetically sexist, had offered her fluff positions back in the office when she became a mother for the first time, then the second. Surely, they reasoned, she was going to get conflicted, bringing life into the world and killing another, what if her family was threatened? Would she choose them first or national security?

By the time she reached the third, aware that those fancy positions were titles at best and with very little power and lesser satisfaction, she looked at every member of her annual panel review with her blue eyes, as if dissecting them right on the spot. Her face betrayed no emotion, there was no tell-tale twitch, no tell of any kind that indicated how Agent Stark felt about that question: Was she a mother first and an agent second or was it the other way around?

“I am as much of an agent as I am a mother and vice versa,” she said, biting out every syllable of the words she spoke. “There is nothing that comes first nor second.”

That was the last time she had to deal with such stupidity.

Catelyn Stark’s call sign on the field was the Executioner. Unlike the typical government operative carrying out missions, Catelyn was part of the Long Lances division. It was a highly-elite group of government assassins. 

Long Lances had short-term assignments, but for them, they were called `kill missions.’ In her almost twenty years as a government assassin, Catelyn Stark had never missed a mark. She had the highest number of kill missions and success rate. Five years ago, the director of the WCA, Howland Reed, requested her to head a new black ops division, The Golden Company. He gave her free reign to choose her team. 

The Golden Company functioned outside the jurisdiction of the Westeros government, which made work both less difficult yet far from easy. Less difficult because they did not have to go through the usual government channels to get something done, and far from easy because if they fucked up on a mission, the government could just deny their involvement or, the worst-case scenario, result in a war. Thus, agents for The Golden Company are made aware, from the moment they are invited, that they wouldn’t get a seven-pointed star on the wall of the main office of WCA. The government will not even acknowledge or do anything to rescue them if caught. 

This cold-bloodedness at the core of The Golden Company was what made Catelyn Stark the perfect director in Howland Reed’s book. They were contemporaries in the agency, separated only by a few years in age. As a senior operative at the time Catelyn was blowing off the heads of insurgents, he knew her reputation. If the mission was to eliminate someone at any costs, Catelyn did so. If she had to shoot an innocent to put a bullet through her target, she did, without hesitation. It was joked that the ice in Catelyn’s veins had been passed down to Robb, who was beginning to challenge his mother’s reputation for ruthlessness.

Howland Reed had been expecting Catelyn Stark from the moment fire alarms being set off in Targaryen Industries hit the news. He knew she was not going to be appreciative at all that he’d kept vital intelligence from her. He knew not to expect fiery temper from a woman who could put a bullet through your eyeball from a thousand leagues away, as wild speculation went. Rather, he should be ready to be skinned and deboned, figuratively, of course, but no less painful than the real thing.

As Howland Reed readied himself, Catelyn Stark’s heels clicked rapidly across the gleaming marble tiled floor of the WCA as she walked. Her face was stoic, her jaw set in a hard line as she led her retinue towards the offices of the director of Westeros Central Agency. Her power came from the coldness seething from her eyes, not from the tailored dark gray suit and navy blouse she wore. Flanking her was Jon Snow and Brienne Tarth, both their faces also expressionless. They had changed into their suits, near-identical black pieces except for the white blouse Brienne wore and Jon’s gray shirt and striped navy and black tie. 

Howland was sitting behind his glass desk when the door to his office was softly opened. Catelyn strode in, followed by two of her most trusted agents. 

“Catelyn,” he said as a way of greeting her. 

Catelyn went right to the point. “How and why is Jaime Lannister an asset?”

She spoke in a hushed town, almost gentle if not for the sharpness of her stare.

Howland looked at Brienne and Jon. 

“Anything you say to me, you will say to them,” Catelyn said.

“Then if you would please sit down,” Howland gestured at one of the chairs by his desk. Catelyn shook her head.

“I’m not in the mood for a long background, Howland. You intentionally kept this from me. Black ops may not function within the boundaries of the law but it is expected and a necessity that you inform us. Tell me why you thought it prudent to keep us out of the loop.”

Howland looked at her. His eyes were mud-green and calm. “We had to see the potential of Wildfyre.”

“The dangerous potential of Wildfyre is what got our attention in the first place. Now it’s been made. Who knows how many Viserys Targaryen has produced.”

“Which is why Jaime Lannister was recruited.”

“Jaime Lannister betrayed his family to work for the enemy. Applicants just implicated in drug charges won’t even make it past recruitment. Tell me why you believed Jaime Lannister could be trusted.”

“I have information that tells me he is the man to trust. That, Catelyn, you can not know. Not yet. Probably never. But rest assured that I vouch for this man. And when Renly Baratheon was alive, he too believed in Jaime Lannister.” Howland looked past Catelyn’s shoulder at Brienne. “He was your handler, wasn’t he, Agent Tarth?”

“He was,” Brienne answered.

“Baratheon was the one who taught Jaime how to send out a signal when he succeeds with the Wildfyre. A signal that Baratheon knew only you would be aware of the significance.”

“It was my call sign, sir. Oathkeeper. From the day Baratheon became my handler, I’ve been Oathkeeper.”

“What makes you think Jaime hasn’t turned?” Catelyn demanded to Howland. “How do you know he’s not playing for both sides?”  
“Because he’s never played for both sides. In order to know who we’re fighting, Jaime Lannister willingly put himself right next to the enemy.”

“Sir, a woman died in the demonstration,” Brienne bit out. Unlike Catelyn who was reining in her temper, Brienne was shaking. The director knew about Jaime, he knew what Wilfyre could do, knew what Viserys was going to do and had just sat back and let an innocent be killed.  
“Agent Tarth, I know you think me cold, merciless. There is nothing I can do with that. But know that had there been another way, she wouldn’t have died.”

“If you had told us in the first place, we might have saved her.” Catelyn told him. “We could have come up with a different extraction. We can’t send Jaime Lannister back. Viserys will start suspecting him. There goes your asset, Howland. But I suppose he’s just another casualty of this war?”

“You don’t speak to me that way, Cately,” Howland said softly.

“If you’re going to fire me, fire me.”

The resolve was hard on Catelyn’s face. So was on Howland’s.

The stalemate was a waste of time, Jon thought. He was willingly treading on a landmine but it had to be done.

“If I may, I believe the issue of Jaime Lannister’s recruitment could be tabled for some other time. We have to find out all we can about Wildfyre. How much has been produced. If that company of murders and torturers are the only ones interested in it. Wildfyre has to be stopped. The only way to do that is to get all the answers we can from Jaime Lannister.”

“You tell me you trust him,” Catelyn told Howland.

“I do.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want everything you have on Jaime Lannister. Everything. You want Wildfyre to be stopped, you’re going to have to trust us to fulfil the mission. No more secrets, Howland. One more, and I swear to you, I’m done.”

Catelyn turned away to leave.

“You will willingly turn your back on your country, Catelyn?”

She looked back at him. “When I’m forced to compromise what I’ve always believed as an agent of Westeros, yes. I’ve always removed the enemy, Howland. I’ve never worked with the enemy.”

“Jaime is not the enemy. Viserys is. Targaryen Industries. All who want the Wildfyre.”

Catelyn straightened her shoulders. “Everything, Howland. I expect everything on Jaime Lannister to be at my desk in half an hour.”  
Then she left, her heels once again clicking on the shiny marble tiles. As Jon and Brienne surrounded her, she told them, “Do not trust Jaime Lannister for one second. He may be an asset but he’s to be treated as a suspect until we know for sure he’s on our side.”

“Noted,” Jon said.

“Affirmative,” Brienne agreed. 

“The minute we find out he’s played us, I’m going to put a bullet to his brain,” Catelyn swore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never read the books. This has been mentioned before. The characterizations of GOT/ASOIAF characters in this universe is very loosely based from the show. So if it's a little iffy or a long way off, then please, try not to snark. I will read the books, but only when the series is complete. Yes. I know. That's twenty years from now.
> 
> The names of agency divisions are from sellsword/mercenary companies from the books.


	7. The Lion and The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb interrogates Jaime.

As the rest of the team scoured through the very extensive dossier on Jaime Lannister provided by Director Howland Reed, Daario and Catelyn kept a close watch over the subject. They watched him through the glass that functioned as a two-way mirror. Each had a laptop so they could quickly verify information. 

Robb, meanwhile, was in the room with Jaime. He sat on the metal chair Brienne had previously occupied. He had changed into his suit, a somber, forbidding, black-and-gray three-piece that made him look like one of those go-getter yuppies until one saw his eyes. They were a rich blue with a cold glint. As if the ice in his veins could beam through them.

The interrogation room had no table. A table meant a portion of the person’s body could be concealed from sight. It was too risky, although anyone who tried to escape was bound to have his legs broken in three different places before he made it through the offices. Every interrogation was overseen by Catelyn. Robb, who was a master at information extraction, sometimes alternated with Daario and Brienne. Of the three, he had an infinite amount of patience, quietly digging away before he went for the kill. Daario went straight to the point and did not hesitate to see through the physical threats he made—which sometimes got him in trouble with Catelyn. Brienne relied more on a conversational-style of extraction, making sure to observe tells in the person that revealed weaknesses before she bared her teeth. 

Every person who had ever been in this room, in Robb’s opinion, deserved every pain meted out to them. But no one had made him seethe as the man who sat before him, his hands bound to the seat of his chair, his feet to the legs. Double agents were no better than mercenaries, even if they were recruited by that golden boy Renly Baratheon. For Robb it was simple. He didn’t know Renly, which meant he did not trust anything associated with him. The exception was Brienne Tarth because he had opportunity to know her and later trust her. 

“Ask him how Renly recruited him,” Catelyn instructed him through the earpiece.

His mother had returned from Howland Reed’s looking like smoke would come out of her ears. Then she’d instructed Brienne, Jon and Sam to go through everything about Jaime Lannister, from the time he was born to the present day. There was little time for all of them pore over the materials on this suspicious asset, not when Wildfyre was already known in the underworld of crime. Never mind that Howland Reed was fully aware of Jaime, Catelyn was going to treat him as a suspect.

“You said you were recruited by Renly Baratheon,” Robb began, staring at Jaime. “How did you come to know him?”

“You’re wasting your time asking me inane questions, boy,” Jaime said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“I told you I was recruited. I’m an agent for the government of Westeros.”

“So you say.”

Jaime snorted. “You’re not much fun, you know. Where’s Blue?” 

“Blue?”

“That impossibly tall blond from earlier. Agent Tarth. She’s not much to look at but you know what they say about a woman’s touch.”

“She has more important things to do than deal with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Jaime’s eyes brightened. “I suppose that’s why they sent you then. I’m not so important. Neither are you.”

“I’m well aware of my dispensability, Mr. Lannister—“

“ _Dr. Lannister_ —“

“Mr. Lannister,” Robb repeated. “But are you?”

“I know that if you kill me you lose your source regarding Wildfyre.”

He was right but Robb wasn’t going to let him know that. “Answer the question, Mr. Lannister.”

“Tell you what. I’ll answer all your questions if you get Agent Tarth down here—“

Catelyn was about to give the order to strike Jaime when Robb shot off his seat and smashed his fist to his jaw. The sound of bone cracking against bone echoed in the room. Robb stood back then returned to his seat. Jaime spat blood on the floor.

“You seem to have the impression that you can negotiate, Mr. Lannister. Let me remind you that you were caught red-handed selling a weapon of mass destruction to known warlords and terrorists. That’s a crime that should send you straight to the Black Cells. No trial. No one knowing where you are. Would you like to know how it is down there? I only have to say the word.” Robb bit out the last sentence. “One word, Lannister. And this room is the last time you’ll see light and mine is the last face you’ll see, my fist the last human touch you’ll have.”

The expression on Jaime’s bloody face showed clearly his disbelief and arrogance at this young pup manhandling him and handing his ass to him without breaking a sweat.

“Actually, there are no words,” Robb said and stood up.

“Wait! No!”

Robb continued his way to the door.

“Stop! It is imperative I speak to Agent Tarth. Renly told me—“

Robb turned away from the door. “Renly Baratheon is dead. If he recruited you, you’d know that.”

Jaime looked shocked but he continued speaking. “He told me that when I’m taken I should talk to Agent Tarth and no one else.”

“Why Agent Tarth?”

“I’m just doing as I’m told.”

“Really. So far I’ve yet to see that.” 

“He trusts her. So I trust her.”

“Yet you struggled to get away from her when she caught you. You’ve been fighting us off since we got you. If you were expecting us, you sure are acting like you don’t know, Lannister.”

Jaime, despite the blood dripping down the side of his mouth and plopping on his suit, growled, “You tell me how you’ll react when armed men come at you from out of nowhere to take you away.”

“You tried to get away from Agent Tarth.”

“I didn’t realize who she was at first. I was too busy getting away from you. Please. I need to speak to her.”

“No. He’ll answer all our questions first and then we’ll think about it,” Catelyn told Robb.

“You may speak to her, probably, if you answer all our questions.” Robb still stood by the door.

_“You’re wasting time.”_

“No, Lannister. _You’re wasting time._ If Wildfyre breaks out, it’s your head that I will personally chop off and hang at the Red Keep. Cooperate and I will consider leaving you head where it is.”

“You’re forcing me to go against my orders.”

“You’re forcing me to participate in this idiocy,” Robb threw open the door.

“No! Don’t go!” Jaime shouted and tried to get off the chair. He ended up crashing hard to the floor still manacled to the chair, groaning. Robb turned around to look at him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll answer all you ask,” Jaime said. “But I need your word that I can talk to Agent Tarth after. Not one hour, not one day after. Right away.”

Robb shut the door but remained standing by it. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants. “How did Renly Baratheon recruit you?”

“I was Dr. Arthur Deyne’s assistant when our department at King’s Landing University, was funded by the Targaryen Industries to take apart and study the structure of this so-called Substance 82. It was an unprecedented discovery, not to mention that very little about it was known at the time. That’s still the case. We were a team but I worked with Dr. Deyne the closest. He saw me as a protégé, even a son he never had.”

Daario spoke in Robb’s ear. “Arthur Deyne committed suicide at his home. This happened two weeks before Renly disappeared, and a month before Jon and Brienne set fire to the lab.”

“So you’re close,” Robb said to Jaime. 

“I thought we were. I saw him as a father. But every man is entitled to his secrets. His suicide was a shock.”

“You had no inkling?”

“Dr. Deyne lived for the lab and his work. We were close but I never asked him about his personal life unless he felt like telling me some of it. But he was my professor in college. He encouraged me to shift from Biochemistry to Chemical Physics.” 

“That’s quite a shift.”

“Not for me. I found more fulfilment breaking down the structures of this world and finding out what they’re made of. Those little parts that make up that one thing, they can also be used and mixed another way to create something else.” Jaime paused. “Usually when I talk, I’m upright.”

“You can stay as you are,” Robb said.

“This is degrading,” Jaime muttered.

“You put yourself in that position, not me.”

“Fucking bastard.”

Robb’s grin was dry. “Thank you.”

“This is not comfortable.”

“Like I said, You put yourself there.”

“This Agent Tarth. Is she nicer than you?”

“That woman’s touch thing again, Lannister?”

“She did say my PhD won’t be safe in her hands. “ Then Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking her? Is that why you’re keeping her from me? I am a whole lot prettier than you, whoever you are. You don’t trust your woman, is that it?”

“Renly Baratheon,” Robb reminded him. “Tell me how.”

“You know. He was undercover as one of the assistants in the lab. Then one day he approached me at the parking lot and told me that he didn’t believe Dr. Deyne killed himself. He told me that Dr. Deyne had discovered what the Targaryen Industries’ funding was really for and he was going to tell the Chancellor, the police, he was going to alert the government. But all his notes—gone. I was going through his things a few days after, the man had no other family, and I noticed it myself that he had nothing at home pertaining to the research we’ve done. Everything was in the office but Dr. Deyne should have others at home. That was strange because he was a workaholic. This was a man who lived for discovery. And I’ve been to his house enough times to see he has--had notes scattered about. I thought. ..I thought when I went there to close up the house that he had a cleaning lady come over a few days before. Everything was neat. That’s what told me that he must have. . .that he really meant to do it.”

“Agent Baratheon. How did he come to recruit you.”

“He showed me photos. He showed me photos of the night Dr. Deyne died. Two men went to his house. He-He couldn’t identify who they were. But he showed me more photos of them leaving a couple of hours later. I was ready to leave. I loved Dr. Deyne, he was the father I wish I had. But I was scared that they’d go after me next. But Renly somehow managed to convince me to live for revenge. And the only way was to present myself to Targaryen Industries.”

“Why didn’t you get out when Renly disappeared?”

“Because I had my orders. Howland Reed, your director, told me himself to remain in Targaryen Industries no matter what, and to do what I’m told, no matter what. I’ve seen and done the vilest things, boy. It started out as revenge but I don’t know when participating in those atrocities became a service to my country. But one thing I know, it is bitter. I'm a fucking bloody scientist. I didn't sign up for anyone to die. Or me to die. ” 

Catelyn was going to instruct Robb to ask more about Jaime’s duties at Targaryen Industries when her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket. “Catelyn Stark.”

“Catelyn,” Brienne told her from the other line. “I’ve found something on Jaime Lannister. Only you can know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dun! WHAT did Brienne find out?


	8. Tightrope Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Catelyn discuss the next course of action regarding Jaime Lannister.

The weeks following Renly Baratheon’s disappearance had been the darkest hours in The Golden Company, especially for Brienne Tarth. He had recruited her straight out of school and went on to become her handler after her training. Theirs was a relationship built on deep trust and loyalty. Renly, being older, was of course, protective. Out in the field there was no one he trusted more than Brienne, and vice versa.  
A personal relationship with a fellow agent outside work, while not unacceptable, was not encouraged either. There were rumors, but that wasn’t unusual as they tend to follow any partners in the agency each consisting of the opposite sex. But exactly how deep the connection between Renly and Brienne went was a question that remained unanswered. 

When he vanished without a trace, Brienne had first gone through the normal channels to look for him before frustration forced her to go rogue. This was the first and only crack in the hard shell that she’d built around herself. It had been completely out of character. Brienne had disappeared for two weeks, and did it so well people even started doubting if she had been alive. Howland Reed was livid and the fight that he and Catelyn had in her office was still WCA legend. Howland demanded that Brienne return in seventy-two hours or she would be marked as a criminal and leap to the top of Westeros’ Most Wanted. Having no choice, Catelyn herself got in touch with her underworld contracts, calling in favors owed to her.

Catelyn found Brienne in Skagos, with only eight hours to spare. Catelyn’s contacts had not been sure if the woman they’d sighted was the one she was looking for. When she first saw Brienne after those two weeks, she hardly recognized the fearsome agent. Her eyes, often bright, had the light sapped from them. Underneath were big, gray shadows, and her pale skin looked sallow, as if she were sick.   
“How long have you been waiting?” Catelyn asked her. She did not have to say who it was.

Brienne’s voice cracked. “Nine days.”

“You know he wouldn’t want this.”

“I need to know, Catelyn.”

“It’s been nine days. How much more do you need to know?”

Since that incident, Brienne had gone back to her straight arrow ways. Catelyn’s trust in her never wavered—she understood loyalty, knew that if her husband Eddard were to suddenly disappear she’d rip apart the entire Westeros with her bare hands to find him. She brought Brienne back to The Golden Company twenty minutes before the deadline. Brienne was not removed but she was benched for three months and underwent psych eval before being given clearance. It was an expected consequence, one she did not fight.

These were in Catelyn’s mind as she approached her office. The door was open, showing Brienne standing by the desk. She was frowning, the expression made more harsh by the thick, deep lines that formed between her blond eyebrows. Since the agent before her rarely showed emotion, Catelyn knew that whatever was going to be told to her was not the best news. She closed the door.

Ten minutes later, Catelyn sat back in her chair. Brienne looked more worried than ever.

“This is not the best way to secure his allegiance,” Brienne said.

“No it’s not,” Catelyn agreed. She took a deep breath and sigh. “Fuck the Seven.”

Catelyn did not curse—not in front of an employee. But Brienne did not flinch.

“What’s the next step, Catelyn?”

“What I’d like to do is bash Howland’s face on a wall. Then throw him out of the window.”

“Effective. But who knows what else he thought not to tell us himself.”

“I did ask him for all information.”

“He should have told us right away. That’s the key to Jaime Lannister.”

“We have to assume that Jaime expects us to know already.”

“True.”

“But no one else besides you, me and Howland can know that information.”

“I agree.”

“Is it still in the files?”

“I’ve encrypted it. Jon and Sam are focused on the research Jaime’s done. I’m handling the personal side of his life. But that only buys time. That information can not be in any database nor anywhere.”

“You’re right.”

“With your permission I’d like to remove it myself.”

When Catelyn did not answer right away, Brienne asked, “What?”

“This is how Howland secured Jaime’s allegiance. For as long as Howland knows, Jaime would play nice and not endanger the people concerned. But only Howland knows. Now there’s you, there’s me. That’s power, Brienne.”

“But it involves civilians. _Innocents,_ Catelyn.”

“Would you choose them over the repercussions of Wildfyre?”

Brienne bit her lip.

“I agree that holding this information over Jaime Lannister like a guillotine is not the best way but that knowledge gave Howland the power to have him on a tight leash. I don’t see how or why we should not take advantage of it.”

“Possibly because we’d be unleashing the worst soap opera Westeros has ever seen?”

“If they’re distracted, we can buy more time with the Wildfyre. We still don’t know who Doreah was talking to. What if it’s a journalist? Just think of the chaos should the public find out about Wildfyre.”

Brienne stood up. “Let’s handle the interrogation ourselves. You and me.”

Catelyn shook her head. “Robb’s building rapport with Lannister. I can’t pull him out now.”

“Jaime knows who I am. I probably won’t have to start that far back when I take over.”

“Brienne, that’s unorthodox.”

“We’re black ops. I thought we function on being unorthodox.” 

“Not like this. Not in the middle of an interrogation.”

“You saw me start with him before Robb. Do you remember how he spoke to me first? Did he do that with Robb?” 

Catelyn didn’s answer. Brienne stacked her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “That means he is more likely to cooperate when it’s me rather than Robb.”

“You don’t know what that man has been saying about you.”

“It couldn’t be any worse than what he said to my face.”

“I’ll have to think about this.”

“That’s a waste of time and you know it. We have no idea how much Wildfyre is out there and who will be entering in a bidding war for it. The key is just twenty feet away from us, Catelyn. All you have to do is give your yes. Let me interrogate him. Renly recruited him. Jaime knows me,” Brienne repeated. “I’ll have to think that because of Renly, he can trust me.”

Jaime Lannister was still on the floor when Brienne opened the door to the interrogation room. He raised his head, his eyes veering toward her. His smile did not reach his eyes.

“I knew they’d send you. Hello, Blue.”

Wordlessly, Brienne shut the door behind her. She went to him, grunting softly as she righted the chair with him on it. The blood on the floor told Brienne that he’d gotten to Robb. She ignored the warmth spreading at her back as she straightened up the chair, knowing that Jaime was watching her. 

“You’re too buttoned up,” he said, nodding at her suit as she stepped away from him to sit on the other chair. “Pop two or three buttons and show me what you offered at the stairs.”

Brienne looked at him. “Tell me about Wildfyre.”

“It will kill you.”

“Tell me who wants it and how much you’ve made.”

“Uncuff me first,” Jaime demanded. “Give me some comfort and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Brienne raised her eyebrow. “You take me for an idiot?”

“I take you for a sensible agent. How can I think clearly if my jaw is hurting, my head is spinning and I’m tied up? How can you demand I answer when you don’t trust me?”

“Are you to be trusted?”

“The fact that you’re asking means you’re thinking of it.”

“Or it could be you think me a bigger idiot than I thought.” 

“Well,” Jaime looked at her from head to the tip of her shoes. “You’re big. Anyone told you what a beast of a woman you are?”

“Wildfyre, Mr. Lannister. Viserys Targaryen was doing a demonstration. How much has been produced?”

“Seven Hells, you’re relentless,” Jaime complained, shaking his head. “And here I thought you’d be a lot more fun than the other guy. He threatened to send me to the Black Cells. Should have known it was only a bluff.”

“He doesn’t bluff.”

“You would know. You’re fucking him,” Jaime grumbled. He tilted his head and looked at her, squinting. “Funny, I don’t see you together. Something about the height thing. He’s practically a dwarf. How does it feel to have such a limited sex life, Agent Tarth? I think if you fuck him when you’re on top you’d crush the little boy. But, it might be worth it to be killed by thighs like yours. You can’t see them at all in those ugly pants but I don’t think you’d look good in a skirt either. Maybe you only look good naked. Care to show me?”

“What else have you got for me, Mr. Lannister?”

_“Dr. Lannister.”_

“Your PhD is of no use here. Especially with me.”

“Who would have thought. You’re a lesbian?”

“What have you done?” Brienne asked him, her voice so soft Jaime started to lean forward until he was reminded of his restraints. He grunted. “You mentioned committing some atrocities for this country. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“What I want to know is why I’m getting this shit treatment. I serve the same country as you, Blue. Why are you treating me like this?”

“Why?”

“Yes. Why!”

“Why? How about that you created Wildfyre? I don’t care if Renly Baratheon recruited you. It should have stopped with you.”

“I had my orders.”

“As I do mine. You want better treatment? Then stop fucking around and give me answers.”

“Or what?” Jaime challenged.

“Do you really want to cross me, Lannister?” Brienne drawled, her blue eyes catching the light of the room, getting him dazzled for a moment with their brilliance. “Because being sent to the Black Cells with be the least of your worries.”

Something about her voice, something with the way the last words rolled on her tongue, made Jaime listen up. His face hardened.  
“You wouldn’t dare.”  
“What is it that I wouldn’t dare?” She mocked him.

He breathed harshly. “My service hinges on Howland’s agreement.”

“And the continuing silence on your secret rests on what you’ll be telling me. Unless you want it known that you fucked your sister and had a son with her?” 

Jaime Lannister paled. 

“The Black Cells sound heavenly now, don’t they?” Brienne asked with a cold smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! So that's why!


	9. The Making of Brienne Tarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Brienne Tarth came to be.
> 
> Shifting POVS: Brienne Tarth, Renly Baratheon and Jaime Lannister
> 
> Warning: Violence and slightly dubious consent up ahead. Skip this chapter if you can't stomach stuff like this.

The Brienne Tarth sitting three feet away from Jaime Lannister was a world apart from the girl who grew up in the Sapphire Isle of Tarth. Had that little girl travelled into the future and saw what and who she became, she would have done anything to avert this fate. 

Movies show government agents leading a glamorous life. Fast cars, fast sex, the coolest gadgets, killing the bad guys with just a flick of the wrist and saving the world just before the clock struck midnight. 

The truth was the exact opposite of that.

An agent was a lethal machine at all hours. The three-year training period they all went through was just the beginning. They were expected to hone their bodies and skills even after that. There will always be a new enemy, bigger, more powerful, more dangerous, crazier. An agent had to better than every new enemy that came along. They came in droves, always worse than the first. If they were dirty fighters, an agent had to merciless.

Keeping mind and body alert was expected. It was the things beyond them that tried every agent, no matter how good she or he was out in the field. The money wasn’t the best yet it wasn’t bad, the hours were always brutal and rest and sleep was whenever they could be had—a couple of hours was already considered a luxury. Then there was also how the job required you to literally put yourself out there as target practice for the worst criminals. Because of this, very few agents had families or kept in touch with their parents or ex-spouses. 

Brienne’s only family was her father. Selwyn Tarth was a professor emeritus at the University of the Stormlands. Her mother died in a car accident three months after she was born. Selwyn, to Brienne’s knowledge, mostly kept to himself and did not seem to be interested in remarrying or even having another relationship. She knew she was his world and did her best to make sure she didn’t disappoint.

Father and daughter were both quiet people. They could go for hours without speaking, each immersed in the imaginary worlds unfolding before them with every turn of the page of a book. Brienne fancied herself pursuing literature in college. When she started writing a features column for the high school paper, her interest shifted to journalism. Creative writing was fun, she thought, but it didn’t excite her as much as writing about an incident or an event and she was in the thick of it. Shy and soft-spoken for most of her life, Brienne developed confidence when she started doing interviews for her articles. 

It showed in how she began to carry herself. Tall at six-foot-three as an adult, she spent most of her life and hunched and trying to make herself invisible. Everthing in her appearance made her ripe for ridicule and the cruellest barbs. Her hair was a messy, dry, thin straw-blond that resisted every hair product applied to control it until she gave up at eighteen and chopped it off. She had worn her hair short ever since, but it did only the slightest taming. Her nose was crooked from the time she broke it while surfing in the waters of Tarth. Her lips were thick and too full, and her teeth big and horsey. Orthodontia improved her teeth but not so much—they were still big and to this day, she hardly smiled. 

Anyone who saw Brienne for the first time took immediate notice of her eyes. They were big and round, fanned by pale blond eyelashes. Their color was a deep, brilliant blue that called to mind sapphires or the deep shade of the ocean. They looked wrong on her face, as if the gods had put them there by accident. When she was recruited in WCA, her trainers had lectured her about the expressiveness of her gaze. The enemy only had to glance at her to know her next move, what she thought, they told her sternly. It would mean her death. It would mean compromising the safety and security of Westeros. About her blushes there was nothing to be done. You could control emotions, you could compartmentalize them but not capillaries.

As with many things she set out to do, Brienne was an excellent agent-in-training. She often finished at the top of the class or second. She found out about the pool going on between students and trainers about her success for the upcoming Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel test—the class nicknamed “seduction school” in WCA. Brienne had always known she turned heads for the worst reasons—her height, the lack of aesthetics on her face. She used these to her advantage in her final test.

She entered the room wearing a little black dress. Sleeveless with a neckline that plunged almost to her stomach, a skirt length that skimmed past her thighs but had a slit that showed a lot of thigh and leg. Her eyes, which she’d always been told would be her undoing in the field, was heavily lined, her eyelashes flicked with mascara. It was the only makeup she wore.

Right away, the effect was striking. The makeup emphasized her sapphire eyes, her dress revealed to the class a toned body that was far from feminine but evenly pale and with the longest legs anyone had ever seen. The heels she wore made them look endless. But the major factor in her success was that the subject was Renly Baratheon, the man who had recruited her. That gave her much comfort throughout the test, so she was herself, just with makeup and legs. 

Personal relationships between agents were not exactly discouraged but ill-advised. However, Renly and Brienne had known each other because he had been the one to recruit her. When he became her handler it seemed a natural stepping stone, and Brienne couldn’t imagine being mentored by anyone else. She trusted Renly from the start because he recognized that potential in her. It was only inevitable she would trust him with her life, and her with his. This was a level of trust not many people reached, and the fact that their jobs required them to put their lives at risk everyday made this stronger. 

And it was the most natural thing in the world to become lovers.

Brienne had always guarded her heart. She was an object of scorn for most of her life, pitied and laughed at. She lost her virginity on the last night of journalism conference among universities to some guy from Qarth University—she didn’t take note if he was editor or columnist, his name, which he’d breathed against her mouth was lost in the few drunken kisses they exchanged before doing the deed. Unlike most girls who waited for the right guy and envisioned a night of candlelight and soft music, Brienne just wanted to get it over and done with. She never had illusions and refused to dream that there was a guy out there who would make love to her surrounded by candlelight and gaze at her as if she was the best thing ever.

The adrenaline after a mission—nicknamed “fight lust” in the agency—was unstoppable. One would think that after bashing the bad guy’s brains it was enough but no, it was only the beginning. Extraction wasn’t often immediate and on the flight home, your body was too buzzed to remain still. The first time Brienne and Renly had each other, it was only the two of them on a mission. They fucked in the bathroom.

Neither of them talked about what happened next until the next time they were once again high from a successful mission and needed an outlet. Even when they were sent on separate assignments, one would seek the other to channel the excessive energy to. 

Once, in a safehouse and while awaiting extraction, Renly was tending to the cuts Brienne had acquired during a fight. Brienne watched him, noticing that he looked as banged up as she did with the bruise at the side of his eyes and the careful way he was moving his arm, which meant it was twisted or had muscle strain. They had stripped off their shirts, he bare-chested, his skin tan all over and bulging with  
muscles, she in a plain white bra, nipples tight from the chill in the air, a large, purple bruise on her shoulder and a tenderness in her ribs. 

“Does that hurt?” Renly asked, reaching into the ice tray for a cube. He was referring to the deep cut on her lip from when the enemy’s knuckles had knocked at them.

“I don’t think I’ll be speaking clearly for a few days,” Brienne managed to say. Her lip was swollen.

“But can you kiss?”

“Why don’t you see?”

They ended up pushing the medical supplies to the floor and fucking on the table, Renly, due to his injured arm, under her. Adrenaline had been humming in their bodies when their mouths crashed together. Renly sucked at the blood from her injured lip. Brienne felt as if her body was ready to take flight as she took him deep in her, surging hard, surging fast, using him. Renly gripped her by nape as he brought her lips down to his, his kiss swallowing her moan as she came. She slammed her mouth down to his as hecame seconds later, his gasp a gust on her tongue.

The second time, just minutes after, there was no more adrenaline. He had no reason to reach for her, slide his rough fingers deep in her cunt and swirl in the sea of their come in there that was still thick and warm. Her eyes were wide as if it was the first time he had touched her, like this. 

“What—“ her question ended in a gasp as he curled his fingers in her. 

“More than this, Brienne?” He asked, his lips hovering over hers.

“More than what?”

She bit her lip to hold back the whimper that rose in her throat when he pulled his fingers out. His blue eyes scanned her face, as if waiting for something.

“Renly?”

“Must it always be only after a mission? Don’t you want me outside of it?”

Brienne held her breath as he slid his fingers through her hair. He kissed her on the cheek. “Can you want me, really want me, Brienne?”

There was only thing to say. _“Yes.”_  
A personal relationship made an agent vulnerable. This was what Brienne feared after her passionate declaration that yes, she too wanted more. Now it wasn’t only her life on the line but her heart. So she protected Renly whenever she could, kept at eagle eye out for him when they were given the same mission. And when it was over and he was in one piece, bruised, cut, shoulder dislocated, but in one piece and very alive, very warm, she took him between her legs with both desperation and relief. Over and over she took him, _needing_ his eyes shining on her, _needing_ his warm breath bathing her lips, _needing_ his cock hard and deep in her cunt. Once or twice, the idea of a child flared in her mind and she thought about dropping her pills in the toilet. If Renly were gone, a child would be something of his, of theirs, she thought. Common sense kicked her hard in the gut quickly enough. A child, in this life, in their life, was unthinkable. So she focused on the life she had now rather than the one she imagined fluttering in her womb: _Renly, Renly, Renly._

When they slept she kept one arm around his stomach and the other tucked under a pillow, ready to reach for her gun.

Brienne had learned to function on less than four hours of sleep. With Renly, her sleep was fitful, plagued with dreams of him felled, of him hurt and his eyes remaining shut forever. Despite the darkening shadows under her eyes, Brienne Tarth was better than ever in the field, dispatching the bad guys but not before making them look as if they’d been through a meat grinder. Her viciousness rendered their faces into hamburger and her legs knocked their organs from their original cavities. Slamming her elbows repeatedly on a Pentoshi terrorist rendered his spine into powder. Her then-boss, Jon Arryn, had yelled at her. The terrorist was supposed to have been taken alive. His death meant valuable intelligence lost. Brienned fired back that one dead terrorist was one less threat against Westeros, that there would always be terrorist to get information from. Soon, the agency gave her another nickname, one they though she didn’t know: “Brienne the Bloody” because she was always out for blood. 

She had been a government operative for three years when Catelyn Stark recruited her and Renly to The Golden Company. It couldn’t have come at a better time. Renly was also frustrated with the Westerosi government wasting valuable time debating amongst themselves about undercover agents out in the field rather than serving in the country itself. He had gotten into trouble for having a double agent choke on his teeth, saving him just as he was at the brink of death. Angry at the betrayal, angry at the government that manacled him for giving exactly what that bastard deserved, he fucked Brienne on the floor of their apartment, ripping off her clothes and gripping her short hair so tightly tears formed in her eyes. He fucked her relentlessly, heedless of her pleasure, through the night. 

And she let him. She let him use her. _She begged him to use her._

Then they didn’t touch each other for almost a month. He had been ashamed. She wondered if she’d failed him. 

The next time they touched, a hesitant brushing of lips, he told her he loved her. 

The Golden Company was exactly what they needed. The black ops unit didn’t go through the slow, fucking proper government channels. For the first time in a long time since being recruited, Renly felt that he was actually serving Westeros. His enthusiasm was infectious.  
Brienne slowly began to realize that this was what being a patriot meant—everything for the country, at all times, no matter what.

One night, a night they were off and could forget that the world could meet its end any day, Brienne asked him if he had imagined another life, what if he wasn’t an agent? Renly admitted that as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t think of being anything else but an agent. He rued that this didn’t make him marriage material, let alone a father. He searched her face, wondering if this was when he would begin to lose her.  
Brienne threaded her fingers through his, told him she loved him. Renly thought as long as she loved, as long as she looked at him with those magic eyes of hers, he would serve the country with no question.

She didn’t know this, just as he didn’t know she felt the same. Theirs was a rare match. So rare the world wasn’t used to it, couldn’t handle it. 

And thus thought to take Renly away. It did not foresee that by doing so, what little remained of the soft-spoken girl from Tarth also died, leaving only a hardened agent who fulfilled her mission no matter how much blood would be drawn. She was Brienne Tarth, Oathkeeper. 

Renly Baratheon was wrong, Jaime Lannister thought, feeling himself beginning to die inside. The secret was out. There was only so much he could do to protect his sister and her son. _Their son._ If things go to Seven Hells, remember this name. Brienne. Brienne Tarth, Renly had told him three days before he disappeared. It was the name that Jaime murmured during those dark days he went away inside, like a talisman, like a prayer. 

Now the woman who sat before him, staring at him with blue eyes so sharp and cold they seemed like icicles, seemed the very person who would bring him hell. And there was nothing he could do. There was no way he could protect those he loved except by going away inside again.

At what point, he wondered, would he lose his way inside and never return?

“Everything, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne was telling him. “You will give me everything you know about Wildfyre. And—And I—“

Jaime looked at her, a nearly broken man. 

“And I swear to you,” Brienne stared at him right in the eye, her gaze unwavering. It was blue light into dull green. “I swear to you,” she repeated, “that no one would know about your sister and your son. It ends with me.”

_“Brienne,”_ Catelyn cautioned in her ear, shocked.

There was no way Jaime could tear his gaze away from her eyes. Those eyes were his only hope.

“I swear to you it ends with me.” Brienne sounded angry. 

_Oathkeeper._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those Renly and Brienne portions in this chapter were written listening to a metal station. That's why it's like that.
> 
> Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel a.k.a. "seduction school" comes from Chuck.


	10. Bread Crumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Brienne swears to keep Jaime's secret. That's not a guarantee the others won't find out. 
> 
> Sorta controversial, this chapter. Rather than tagging it or mentioning outright one of the repercussions of Jaime and Cersei's relationship, I just thought to leave clues. Hopefully they're enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Jaime and Brienne chapter

While Brienne continued interrogating Jaime under the supervision of Catelyn, Jon, Robb, Daario and Sam threw themselves into research. Howland Reed had sent files reaching terabytes, all heavily encrypted. If not for the codes and clearance, Sam told them, wiping the sweat off his forehead, he’d be trying to hack into them for months—if he didn’t have to take pee breaks.

Daario took charge of all communication that took place from Jaime’s home, his cellphone and from the office. There was a vast amount of data to go through. Daario was a hothead on the field but once in an office, he focused to the point that he was quiet for hours. Robb turned his attention to the professional side of their asset’s life, taking note of the many articles written around him, from being a rising star in the science department during his uni days, to the blogs and websites devoted to his “amazing jawline” and “sculpted cheekbones,” and the scandal caused by his refusal to work with his father Tywin and joining Targaryen Industries. 

From the amount of work Jaime had done, it was plausible that he had very little time for a personal life. But the guy wasn’t putting his life on the line everyday, Robb justified, frowning. And he’d had at least a couple of things. Not relationships. It was a little hard to believe that the man was that dedicated to his work—that any man, unless a monk, was that dedicated to work. There was only one woman whose name cropped up several times in the file: his twin sister, Cersei Lannister.

Cersei Lannister was Jaime’s female equivalent, stunningly beautiful with long hair the color of spun gold and big, green eyes. She wore a lot of red, of a shade that was the color of blood, reminding people by sight that she was a Lannister. She was unmarried and like her brother, appeared to not have a life outside of work. She was the vice-president for marketing for the Lannister Group of Companies, a work that probably required long hours, Robb thought, but still, no time for sex? He himself had flirted with that cute Volantean chick during a mission, for crying out loud.

Jon’s focus were Jaime’s known associates. Since the man didn’t have much of a personal life, the list was short yet telling. Arthur Deyne’s protégé. Widely believed to be Viserys Targaryen’s right hand. Headed the research and development division staffed by uber-geniuses like him. It was interesting that at least half of them were from Volantis. It was the richest city in Essos, and had surpassed the capital of King’s Landing in various economic aspects. Jon made a mental note to take a look at science and development in Volantis. It might just be a coincidence, maybe Lannister had a Volantis fetish, maybe it was something else. He wouldn’t know unless he did a little research.

Three hours after they began their research, the four men looked at the board they had tacked with notes and photos concerning Jaime Lannister. Sam had even color-coded the strings that connected them—red for work, green for work, blue for the personal.   
Yet they still didn’t have a clear picture of who Jaime Lannister really was.

Rob tossed his reading glasses on the text in frustration. “We’ll trade. Fresh eyes, that’s what we need. Cat and Brienne are with him right now. There’s something we’re missing and if we don’t take advantage of the interrogation who knows if he’ll be singing that loudly again. Come on. Give me that,” he told Daario, holding out his hand.

Another two hours and still nothing.

“Maybe it’s not that we’re missing something,” Jon suggested, rubbing his temples. “Maybe it’s something that’s right in our faces and because it’s mundane we’re not paying attention.” He looked at the disgruntled faces of his colleagues. “That’s what we look for, then. Something ordinary. Harmless. Information about Lannister we wouldn’t think twice about.”

“Something keeps popping up in all these reports,” Sam announced fifteen minutes into their new task. “Or rather someone. His sister.”

“Cersei Lannister,” Daario provided. “Works for her father. Vice-president.”

“Beautiful but that’s it,” Robb said, looking over the files he had. “Sam, could you flash her scholastic records on the screen?”

They turned towards the opposite wall. Sam tapped a few keys on the computer and Cersei Lannister’s college transcripts were soon blown up before them.

“B’s and C’s and the occasional A. Not what you’d call exceedingly smart but not average either. Unfocused?” Daario mused. “She’s alright with her general education subjects though am personally affronted at the C she got for Histories of Westeros. Pretty lady from an old family should care more, don’t you think?”

“She’s a Communications Major,” Sam added. “She got an A in Introduction to Comm Theory and the next is Marketing and Public Relations. That’s about the only time she showed some extra brilliance.”

“Well, it’s her course. She was obviously more interested in them,” Jon said.

“Let’s take a look at who here professors were. Any luck you can hack at her old registration records? We don’t have it on file,” Robb asked Sam, grinning.

“Please. Do you doubt me?” Sam said, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m taking a look at her financial records now,” Daario said, his blue eyes almost silver from the light emanating from his laptop. “She’s a generous donor. Five thousand gold dragons to King’s Landing General every year since she became vice-president of her father’s company, ten thousand to the women’s shelter, thirty thousand to the Westeros Museum of Art and ten thousand to Westeros Veterans.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Rich folk. They put money on pretty pictures but only a few lousy thousand to those who died for the country.”

“Who knew,” Jon mocked. “Daario Naharis. Patriot.”

“I’m in the system,” Sam told them, still typing on the computer. “Cersei Lannister, Communications major coming to your screens. . .right now.”  
He tapped the last key with flourish and grinned when her registration record from her freshman year was displayed. The four men leaned forward as they read the details displayed.

“Introduction to Chemistry,” Jon murmured. “Arthur Deyne. The lioness of Lannister got a C minus.”

“Cough up Jaime’s, Sam,” Daario requested. 

The twins’ records were side by side. Cersei was clearly floundering or just partied too hard whereas her brother spent nights cooped up with a book. It showed in the difference in their grades. Jaime too, had been in Deyne’s class, and got an A.”

“Did they have the same class? Schedule?” Robb asked. 

Sam typed and displayed the result. “Same professor, different time slot.”

“Explain to me the point of this exercise,” Daario demanded Robb.

He shrugged. “Elimintation. If Cersei had been in the same class as her brother, he most likely left her on her own, which explained her poor grade. Knowing Lannisters, this is the equivalent of turning your back on family. Loyal, that lot, but in a skewed way. If they were in the same class, Cersei might also know something.” 

“How estranged are they?” Jon asked.

“Probably not so much,” Daario said, tapping at the print-outs on his side of the conference table. “They speak at least once a month on the phone. They don’t meet up anywhere but they communicate.”

“They are twins,” Robb explained but he didn’t sound convinced. “Checking up on each other, maybe?” 

“Plausible. Maybe they’re not that estranged.”

“While you ladies were chatting,” Sam said, “let me point you towards something of interest.”

They turned towards the screen just as it flashed a handwritten note. They frowned except for Sam, who had seen it before he called their attention. He called up other similar notes from Cersei Lannister’s records from the university health center.

Daario was the first to speak. “Severe stomach cramps? What do we need to know that for?”

“She missed a week in school in connection to that twice,” Sam explained. “First as a freshman then on her junior year. It might be one of those lady problems. The medical certificate’s from the same doctor, Qyburn. The one we’re looking at was presented to her Communication Theory professor, Petyr Baelish, so he could give her a make-up test. She missed her midterms.”

“So Qyburn’s the family physician,” Jon shrugged. 

“Take a look at where the note’s from. What place,” Sam told him.

They all squinted briefly, leaning forward at the same time. Their faces cleared and they looked at each other.

Sam was smug. “It might be nothing. You can’t help but do the math. Why would her medical certificate come from a doctor in a women’s health clinic? And for stomach cramps?”

“Okay. If that's what I think it is, I don’t approve but what business is it of ours, exactly?” Robb told them. 

“She doesn’t appear to be with anyone serious. Before and even now,” Daario said slowly.

“Information the Lannisters pay a public relations agency to keep away from the press,” Robb said. “For all we know she’s got a boy toy her father doesn’t approve of.”

“There’s no record of her in the files we have that she’s been with anyone. You seriously think Cersei Lannister is a virgin?” Jon pointed out.

“Let’s not forget she’s still in close contact with her twin brother,” Sam added. “Nothing in what we’ve looked at so far indicate that Jaime   
Lannister’s in touch with his father in any way but with his sister?”

Robb looked at them. Daario, Jon and Sam looked disbelieving at kind of information they may have. It was a landmine.

“Your mother needs to know this,” Jon told him.


	11. Digging Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne looked bored. “Is that really all you have to say to me? Some lion you are.”
> 
> “You can’t take me.”
> 
> Blue met green. “I’m strong enough. And if you think of fucking with me, that’s the last thing you’ll do. You’ve been a good boy so far, Lannister. You want my trust? Then _earn_ me.”

Brienne was sore all over and was in dire need of a good, long stretch. Despite the absence of a clock on the wall and her left wrist revealing the paler band where her watch usually rested, she knew that it had been a little over five hours since her interrogation of Jaime Lannister began. Five hours of struggling to remain in her seat, her face impassive as every word that fell from his firm lips told of Armageddon. Its date only needed to be pencilled in. It was enough to forget the headache nagging at her since falling down the stairs. 

She meant it when she told him before that his relationship with his sister will never be known outside of their circle. She rarely gave her word and when she did it was iron-clad. Having complete trust in the man sitting before was another matter. Renly may have trusted him but since his body had never been recovered to this day, Brienne couldn’t help but be suspicious. Something told her to keep chipping away at Jaime Lannister.  
“You’re not taking note of what I’ve said,” Jaime said. His voice was cracked and there was dry, white skin at the corner of his lips. In spite of the blood that had dried on his cheek, he was still a very handsome man. 

“We’re being recorded.”

“I thought you’ll keep my secret.”

“Only if you play by my rules.”

“What if it gets deleted? Do we play again?”

“I can always ask you again. Do you have somewhere to be?”

“I’ve cooperated. I’m cooperating.”

“I still have questions.”

Brienne crossed her left hand over her right, both resting on her lap. It was a signal to Catelyn that she had her own questions to ask now. 

“Go ahead,” Catelyn said in her ear.

She knew she shouldn’t but the question would burn her for who knew how long if she didn’t. The sooner she knew, the sooner she could move on and forget.

“Why your sister, Jaime?”

He was clearly surprised with the sudden turn in her questioning. At once, his smile was arrogant. “Jealous?”

“She’s your twin, isn’t she? You both have the same stupid golden hair. The same stupid emerald eyes. When you fuck her are you fucking yourself?”

He frowned at her.

“Or jerking off to yourself? Explain it to me.”

He looked at her right in the eye. Though he was clearly tired, there was no mistaking the strength in his gaze. “We don’t get to choose who we love.”

“Well what do you know. The man who invented the most destructive weapon the world will be seeing soon is a romantic.”

“We shared a womb. Came into this world together. Why shouldn’t we live together?”

“They don’t,” Catelyn told Brienne through the comms. “But they call each other twice a week.”

“If you live together why do you talk to each other that much on the phone?” Brienne asked Jaime.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “You’ve been listening in on our conversations?”

“You’re a person of interest, Mr. Lannister.”

“It’s Dr. Lannister—never mind. You’re all hired muscle in the end. Not much between the ears.”

“He’s the one who always calls her,” Catelyn said.

“You won’t have anything to do with your family. You don’t work for them. Your father’s cut you off. Yet you remain in touch with your sister. You’re always calling her,” Brienne spat out the last sentence. “What, she won’t go with you? Is that why you’ve been relegated to being a phone sex operator?”

He dared to grin at her. “Judging by your looks, that’s the only sex you get. What? That pretty boy from earlier, the one who punched me because he couldn’t deal with how handsome I am, he’s not fucking you enough? Or he doesn’t know how to fuck you?”

“Why does your sister not call you? Why is it always you?” She demanded.

“Why not? She’s my sister. I love her. Still.”

“So you are together?”

“What the fuck is the point of this questioning?”

“You’ve been caught red-handed selling a dangerous weapon to warlords and terrorists,” Brienne reminded him through gritted teeth. “That means you have no rights and I have every right to do to you whatever the fuck I want.”

“If you want to fuck me, you’ll have to turn off the lights first.”

Brienne looked bored. “Is that really all you have to say to me? Some lion you are.”

“You can’t take me.”

Blue met green. “I’m strong enough. And if you think of fucking with me, that’s the last thing you’ll do. You’ve been a good boy so far, Lannister. You want my trust? Then _earn_ me.” 

He looked at her assessingly. “Towering beast you are but somehow. . .I have a feeling I’ll be shortchanged. Then his face cleared. “I think I know why you’re asking about Cersei. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“Fuck the Seven and fuck you. She doesn’t know anything. You lay a finger on her—“

Brienne raised an eyebrow.“And what will you do? Kill me? End me? Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Bitch,” he growled and tried to kick her. He looked so pathetic she almost laughed, cruelly.

“Fighting words from a bound man,” Brienne murmured, her eyes dropping to his imprisoned wrists and ankles. “Close, but no roar. So much for the mighty roar your name promised. People do love to over-praise a famous name.”

“Brienne Tarth,” he spat her name and joined a fat globule of saliva at her feet. “Fuck Renly wherever the fuck he is for telling me I can fucking trust you. You want me to earn your trust when you don’t even fucking trust me.”

“You haven’t been exactly forthcoming, Lannister.”

“Fuck, my name’s Dr. Jaime Lannister!”

“You really think your doctorate is something to be bandied about given what you’ve done? It should be revoked.”

“I earned that with every blood and sweat. I earned that by turning away from my family.”

“Only to do what, Lannister? You’ve brought the Stranger upon us all.”

“I fucking did not! I had no fucking choice but the Wildfyre left with Viserys can not be used without—“ Jaime exploded, his handsome, bloody face flushed.

“Without what?” Brienne growled at him. When he didn’t answer, she cursed loudly and said, “If you continue holding out on me, Lannister, you’ll never see daylight again.”

“I need your guarantee,” he said, sounding determined, “that I will not be charged for any wrongdoing. Would you rather I quit and Viserys had someone else handle the technology? We wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t me.”

“Tell me how you can dare think of yourself as some hero, as a savior, when you created something that will destroy us all?”

“The stockpile. . .” Suddenly, Jaime sounded tired. “Viserys can’t access them.”

“What the fuck did you do this time?” Brienne leaped to her feet and used to the might of her frame and height to glower at him. Startled, Jaime pushed his chair back, sharply, and nearly tipped to the floor. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and set him back down.

Her breath was quick, shallow puffs from her flaring nostrils. Her skin was red from the anger she was barely restraining, it raced fast and fat in her veins. Her hands folded into tight fists as she regarded Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister who looked at her with this tired eyes, green rimmed with red. But she wasn’t fooled, not by one minute, by how helpless he looked.

“What did you do.” She bit out each syllable with a snap of her teeth.

“DNA.”

“What of DNA?”

“To get to the room, I have to give DNA. It’s programmed to ask only me and accept only my DNA. Viserys can’t go in. He’ll have to shut down the entire system, the entire system in the building and the fastest reboot is six minutes. He’ll figure out eventually and I have a bad feeling that in trying to do the right thing, I’ve put myself right into the path of dragon fire.”

“It’s not too late.” 

“I’m all that stands between Wildfyre and the world, Agent Tarth.”

Brienne wanted to scream and hit something. Instead, she stalked out of the room.

There was still light in the room but Jaime swore he felt as if the world had been plunged in darkness. He stared at the door from which she’d left him, sealed tight, wondering how in Seven Hells he’d gotten himself in this shit of a game.   
He had just turned his gaze away from the door when it suddenly burst open. Jaime roared as two men in black suits came at him, one holding him by the neck while another yanked a heavy, black mask down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. That was Olivia Pope.


	12. In the Name of This Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Howland Reed needs to be straight with us,” she said smoothly, turning to the others as if she hadn’t displayed a rare flash of temper. “That’s not going to happen. The next thing I will be saying is tantamount to treason. You are free to leave the room. I refuse to force anyone to take part in this. I will do this myself if I must. There’s no other choice.”

Catelyn stared at the faces looking at her. She was on her feet and stood next to the screen, a formidable figure with anger brimming inside her, magma swirling in a red-orange pool just waiting for the right moment to burst. She projected an image of calm and stoicism although in her head, she was imagining feeding Jaime Lannister to the dragons, fuck the Seven they were extinct.

Government operatives functioned the best in highly stressful situations. Jaime Lannister was turning out to be Code Red and they were still within the confines of their office—what would happen once they were outside? Catelyn cursed Howland Reed for not bringing them in early on, or at least informing them of how he’d planted that Lannister son of a bitch for a plan that only he knew of—the director was still far from forthcoming and Cately was approaching the end of her patience. 

The agents surrounding her didn’t look tired yet grim. Brienne’s face was red and her breathing was rapid, violent huffs and puffs of air that reminded them of a bull just about to charge. Robb looked like he’d been sucking sour lemons the entire night. Jon looked more dour than usual, no doubt upset at how Catelyn had shot down his theory that something more was going on between Jaime and his sister. Of course there was but as Brienne had unthinkingly sworn to Jaime that no one else would find out, Catelyn had no choice but to comply. 

Daario looked bored out of his mind. His restlessness was evident with how his fingernails rapped repeatedly on the table and he rolled his eyes. Every now and then they fell on Brienne. He would squint, tilt his head, as if trying to find the best angle to look at her from. She caught him every time and sent him a scowl that would have a lesser man’s knees knocking. Unfortunately, it took more than an annoyed woman to affect him this way.

Sam, as usual, looked bewildered and anxious. His kept jumping from one face to the next, as if waiting, waiting for orders. Waiting for something to do.

Catelyn wantedto howl. She fucking had no idea.

“Where’s he now?” She asked Jon. There was no doubt as to whom she meant.

“Down where he won’t see light until we change our minds,” Jon answered. He clearly did not appreciate being one of the men who had to drag Jaime out of the room. The scientist had kicked and yelled before Daario knocked him hard on the back of his head, sending him limp and heavy down the ground.

“He shouldn’t have been brought there,” Brienne said, looking at her hands on the table before she looked up and met their stare. 

“He doesn’t deserve an eight-by-ten, Brienne,” Daario told her.

“I’m not saying we roll out the red carpet,” Brienne snapped at him. “I wasn’t done. We don’t know what else Jaime. . . _Lannister_. We still don’t know if he’s told us everything we want to know.”

“He won’t,” Catelyn told her. 

“He sang like a canary when I started digging around his sister,” Brienne said.

“We have to use her,” Robb told Catelyn. He took had been displeased with her quick disregard of what they’ve gleaned from their research. “Are we really going to be polite, be fucking proper, when lives are at stake?”

“I don’t want us keeping him cooped up like that and making us work for what we want. He needs a lesson about power. It’s not his,” Catelyn said. 

“What of the Wildfyre?” Brienne asked. “It can only be accessed with his DNA.”

“What on earth is going at Targaryen Industries that everyone’s putting their DNA on everything? For all we know it’s piss DNA they’ve got on the IDs and the codes,” Sam said, looking disgusted.

“We’re going to need to get back there,” Catelyn informed them, ignoring Sam’s comment. “To observe, that’s all. To make sure that the information we have is accurate. We can’t go there blind.”

“We are blind. What are we to do with the Wildfyre once we have it?” Daario pointed out. “Throw it to the sea? Pump them all in Viserys’ ass?”  
Catelyn’s blue eyes looked to be assessing where she could strike Daario first that would have him incapacitated and pleading for death as she drew out his suffering. “You are here, in my division, under the orders of Howland Reed. I didn’t ask you to be here but while you are in this office you will leave your ass at the door.”

Daario, for the first time ever, kept his mouth shut.

“Howland Reed needs to be straight with us,” she said smoothly, turning to the others as if she hadn’t displayed a rare flash of temper. “That’s not going to happen. The next thing I will be saying is tantamount to treason. You are free to leave the room. I refuse to force anyone to take part in this. I will do this myself if I must. There’s no other choice.”

“I’m with you,” Brienne said. Catelyn shook her head.

“Hear me first and then make your decision.”

“I don’t need to hear what you’ll be doing. The black ops function without conforming to traditional government channels. We commit treason every day in the name of Westeros. What’s one more betrayal?”

“The very office that makes our existence possible.”

Silence rang loudly. 

She looked at them all in the eye. “Leave, if you must. You have my word that I won’t stop you. Report me. But if I could dare to request for a small favour in the name of this betrayal, tell the authorities after the deed’s done.”

“Done,” Jon said. He sat back in his chair.

“You don’t have to ask me,” Robb said at the same time.

“You have your tech, Ms. Stark,” Sam told her.

“Do you trust me, Catelyn?”

The question came from Daario.

“Why do you ask, Agent Naharis?”

“Because you know nothing of me. I’m only here under the orders of Director Reed. I can pick up that phone right now and have you, all of you, shut for the rest of your lives in the Black Cells before breathing a single word of that plan.”

“If you can, why are you telling me this? Do you need my permission?” Catelyn strode toward the phone and held it out to him. “You have it.”  
Daario stared at her long, elegant fingers grasped loosely around the slim, flat, black device. Then he looked at her face.

“Do you trust me, Catelyn?” He asked again. 

“Should you be trusted?”

“I’m still here.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does when I’ve no interest in making that phone call to Reed.”

“Why?”

“Because, Catelyn, though you don’t trust me and would throw me to the wolves in the blink of an eye, I believe in you.” 

“I don’t need you to believe in me, Agent Naharis. Only that you do as you’re instructed and to leave none of your partners behind.”

“You have my word. I’d swear it if you ask.”

“I never beg anyone to swear to me.”

“So I’ll give it willingly. I swear to serve to the best of my knowledge and ability as an agent of the Golden Company, for the good of Westeros—“ and he flashed a crooked smile—“unusual as the methods are of serving and protecting the country.”

Catelyn just looked at him, her face betraying no emotion, not even the slightest.

It was Brienne who broke the silence. “What must we do?”

There was no other way to say it but bluntly.

“We’re breaking in to the Westeros Central Agency.”

Only Sam looked shocked.

“It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“It’s not that,” Sam admitted after a few seconds of blushing, which got deeper as every eye in the room turned to him. “Uh. . .I. . .you guys know that government got me working for them because I hacked in to the Social Security System? That’s not exactly the case.”

Catelyn frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I hacked into the Social Security System before. They caught me. . .when I broke through the firewall of WCA.” Sam looked sheepish. “To my knowledge, I’m the only one who’s done it.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“It is when they had someone who’s just a bit smarter than me reinstall the security protocols and systems I destroyed.” 

“A bit smarter?”

“Just a bit. Uh. . .” Sam looked at Brienne for help, who looked confused. Then he turned to Jon, who looked just as confused. “I’ve never. . .he’s better, just a tiny bit. I swear to you guys. Just a tiny bit.”

“Get on with it,” Robb was impatient.

“It’s Oberyn Martell,” Sam whispered. “WCA had him redesign the system and protocols to make it impenetrable. Even if I try to hack from the inside, it’s still the equivalent of bashing a battering ram against a twenty-foot-thick steel and concrete. I’m sorry. Ms. Stark, I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave me out of the team. There’s no way I can do it.”

“You can’t do it?” Catelyn echoed.

“Only the Red Viper.” This was Oberyn Martell’s nickname. He was fast and loads smart and enjoyed making hackers cry like five-year-olds.  
“Then we get him,” Robb announced, surprising everyone. He grinned at their outraged faces.

“He works for Howland Reed!” Brienne exclaimed.

“He plays, doesn’t he? Don’t get your knickers in a twist, everyone. Uh, sorry, Mother,” Robb said, the tips of his ears turning beet red. “But I know. I just know how we can get this guy.” He patted the chubby tech guy on the shoulder. “And I need you to make it happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn Stark, you are a rock star.


	13. "Alliser and Tysha"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne’s hand drifted down Robb’s lean stomach. She slipped her fingers between the buttons, finding warm skin, telling him what was needed. “Got it,” Robb whispered right before his arms tightened around her. Then he sucked hard on the tip of her earlobe.

Brienne scowled at her reflection in the mirror. “I look ridiculous.”

From behind, Robb chuckled as he finished snapping closed his cufflinks. “Come on now.”

Brienne’s eyes narrowed into slits as he materialized behind her shoulder in the mirror. Robb was grinning and nodding as he scanned every inch of her in the too-tiny sapphire-blue dress that in her opinion showed every fucking thing. She was already flushed and too warm when she first saw the dress Robb had picked out for her, and now that he was looking at her that way she wanted to dive into the nearest bathrobe or bed and huddle there for the rest of the night. 

“I heard you wore a lot less than that for your test in seduction school,” he told her, his eyes resting on a certain part of her anatomy that made her frown even more.

“Get your fucking eyes off my ass, Stark.”

“Damn, who knew your ass was like that?” Robb shook his head in wonder. “I’ve never seen anything. . .that high. Fucking unbelievable, Tarth.”

“Stop it,” she growled, turning away from the mirror and sitting on the bed to put on the even more ridiculous black, gladiator-style platform booties. The heels were four inches high, making her tower over Robb even more. He was five-foot-ten.

A quick knock came to the door and Jon stuck his head in. Unlike them, he was in a t-shirt and jeans. “Ten minutes, kids.”

Then he was gone. Brienne got to her feet and this time studiously avoided her reflection in the mirror as she passed it. 

Tonight, they were going to infiltrate Club Red, the exclusive nightclub where Oberyn Martell was a highly-prized member. It was a by-invitation-only club, and potential members had to have bank accounts bulging with enough fat to sink Westeros to be considered. Being rich wasn’t a guarantee. Members of Club Red also had. . .certain proclivities.

This was where their cover came in. Robb was going to be Alliser Thorne, CEO of a very successful leather goods company. Brienne would be his wife, Tysha.

Upon hearing tonight’s alias, Brienne had visibly bristled. Her blue eyes bore hard on Sam, who had been the one to come up with their names. Jon, who was team leader for this operation, only supplied their covers.

“What the fuck, Tarly?” Brienne exploded upon hearing she was going to go by that name. “That’s the name of a whore.”

“It suits your cover,” Jon said, springing to Same’s defense smoothly. “Tysha is a modelling agent. That’s how you and your husband dear Alliser met. Through work. You supplied him with a model.”

“Why not name her Angela or Sarah or Mary. You don’t fucking name a fucking modelling agent Tysha.”

“From the dossier we’ve compiled on Oberyn Martell,” Sam said, clearing his throat, “he likes women with exotic names.”

“Do I fucking look exotic to you, Sam?”

“It’s up to you how exotic she’s going to be,” Jon told her.

If Brienne thought that was the worst thing, she wasn’t prepared for the next trick they pulled out of the bag.

Even Robb frowned. “I am not going to truss up Brienne and spank her, let alone have a complete stranger do anything to her.”

“I’d kill him first,” Brienne swore.

This time, Sam was more confident. “You said you knew how to get this guy,” he reminded Robb.

“Because I only knew that The Red Room was exclusive. How the hell was I supposed to know it specialized in that kind of kink?”

“But it’s the one place where Oberyn lets his guard down,” Sam was practically pleading. “You told me you needed me to get this done. This is me trying to get it done, but only with your cooperation.” He glanced at Brienne. “Both of you.”

“You don’t actually have to spank Brienne or anyone,” Jon told them. “Just get him alone and have him cough out the access codes then knock him out until the next Thursday.”

“Besides, what’s the guarantee he’ll go for you both?” This time it was Daario who spoke. “From what I’ve read here,” he said, referring to the file on Oberyn Martell on the desk before him, “He swings both ways. And he’s not really particular. Only that the man be good-looking.”  
He winked at Brienne. Daario was going to infiltrate the club too, but as a bartender. All he had to do was report the action and be on the lookout for Oberyn Martell. And also as back-up should things go south. 

“I can’t believe this is what we have to do,” Brienne groaned, burying her face in her hands. Robb rubbed her behind the shoulders.

Right now, Brienne was a tensed spring as she sat in the car next to Robb, who was driving. Sam had taken their photos, which was going to be uploaded in The Red Room’s database along with their fake information. For a sex club, its security wasn’t the easiest but far from difficult. Daario had left in advanced to make the proper realignment of cables and wiring before he started his shift.

The Red Room was located in a seedy part of Westeros that required a lot of twists and turns before Robb made out the familiar blinking red light of the R logo. There were no lines but there was no mistaking the large, burly men that flanked the door. Their facial expressions were harsh and their eyes sharp as an eagle’s. Robb pulled up and immediately, a valet with a dark red vest over his white shirt and paired with black pants approached them. The other got Brienne’s door open.

Brienne took a deep breath and carefully turned her body, mindful that if the skirt climbed any higher the guards will see the holster strapped around one muscular thigh. She remembered to put on the somewhat bored but pleased expression of someone very rich and indulged her whole life as she placed her feet gracefully on the curb, crossed, and waited for Robb to approach her and help her out of the car. Meanwhile, the bouncers at the door cast an appreciative glance at her long, very long, toned legs. 

Robb reached her side, the smirk on his face that of his cover rather than himself. He took her hands and guided her up. He stood close enough to Brienne to detect the subtle scent of soap behind her ears and at her throat, but not so close that he was depriving the bouncers the view of her ravishing figure in a tiny dress.

So Brienne wasn’t curvy, she wasn’t tiny and the farthest thing from delicate. But she had eyes so blue and alive—they were eyes one often had difficult looking away from as they pulled you in always. Her shoulders were broad—broader than his, and her tits were so small she didn’t need a bra. She no waist to speak of. Yet the cut of the dress gave the illusion of this elusive curve. It took advantage of her lack of breasts by having the neckline plunge almost to her belly button and show a teasing, taut stretch of pale skin splashed wildly with freckles. The skirt was just a few inches down her thighs and still showed a lot of it, and a lot of those legs of hers, now made longer by her high heels. _Heads will turn,_ Robb thought, putting his hands on her waist. _But they will roll if they laid a hand on her._

“Don’t hit me,” he told Brienne, who gave a little nod before she lowered her head. He raised his chin to her. 

Their kiss was passionate—at least, it looked like it and the way their bodies pressed to each other showed intimacy and want. Yet all Robb could think about were wide, brown eyes. Brienne wondered where that feeling of betrayal came from when Renly had been gone for years, and why, why the fuck were cold green eyes filling her head? They should set her off. Those eyes were not to be trusted and yet she found herself drowning in those icy depths.

She put a hand on Robb’s shoulder and moaned.

He gripped her on the waist. “Easy,” he whispered before his lips took her again. 

His warning had her stepping back mentally from the swirl of emerald swaths surrounding her. She allowed herself a quick sigh of relief when Robb broke away from their kiss to kiss her on the throat.

“We’re at the front,” he whispered. “Tell us when.”

Daario’s voice spoke through the comms in their ears. “It’s on. The blinking yellow light means it’s okay, right?”

“Yellow?” Sam demanded. “It’s green.”

“Yellow, green, it’s the same.”

“Sellsword,” Jon sounded impatient. “Is it done?”

“Yes it is. Aren’t you picking it up?”

Sam said, “Okay. Got it. Just let me work my magic.”

“I have to go back,” Daario said.

Brienne nuzzled her nose against Robb’s thick, dark curls. He continued tracing her jawline with his lips. Her eyes were open and looked very blue as they took note of the lean, sharp figure stepping out of a flashy sports car. She pretended to kiss Robb in the ear.

“Red Viper.”

He nodded but continued kissing her. She followed Oberyn Martell with her eyes as he moved towards the entrance. Suddenly sensing he was being watched, Oberyn looked to his side and saw her.

Brienne’s hand drifted down Robb’s lean stomach. She slipped her fingers between the buttons, signalling him. “Yes,” Robb whispered right before his arms tightened around her. Then he sucked hard on the tip of her earlobe.

Brienne’s whimper was the first note of the song Oberyn Martell would be coaxing out of her. He grinned at her, his eyes flashing like black diamonds in the night. Brienne stared back at him and gave him a coy, close-lipped smile before she breathed in Robb’s ear.

“Files up, Oathkeeper, Wolf,” Jon told them in their ears. “Good luck.”

Robb pulled away and took Brienne’s hand in his. Together, they approached the entrance. Oberyn Martell had gone in. 

“He’s in,” Daario told them. “He looks like a cat that got the cream.”

“He bloody well should,” Brienne muttered as the bouncers checked their faces based on what they had in the computer. A nod soon had them being ushered in.

The Red Room looked just like any nightclub—people danced in the center of the room, a deejay spun the latest mixes that pulsed right in the brain, couples crowded small tables, the bar. Daario caught their eye from behind the bar and discreetly looked up. Robb and Brienne followed his gaze and saw Oberyn Martell at the balcony, speaking to one of the servers. 

“Do we approach him?” Brienne asked Robb.

“Something tells me we will be approached,” Robb said, looking past her shoulder.

Brienne turned around and saw the server Oberyn had been talking to coming toward them. She was a sleek brunette and had the nameplate Ellaria on the left pocket of her white shirt.

“Mr. Thorne, Mrs. Thorne,” she told them. “I’m Ellaria. Mr. Martell asks that you join him in his private room.”

“Oh,” Robb feigned surprise. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“Where is Mr. Martell?” Brienne asked. She tilted her head curiously.

“Your ten o’clock,” Ellaria told her.

Brienne pretended to see him for the first time. Robb, acting like a possessive husband, put his arm around her waist.

“Do you want to, sweetheart?” He asked her.

“Only if you come with me,” Brienne told him.

Ellaria beamed. “Follow me, please.”

“Just remember,” Robb, still speaking as Alliser, dropped his voice but made sure it was clear enough for Ellaria to overhear as she led them through the crowd, “this Martell guy can have your mouth but your cunt is mine.”

“And if he wants something else that isn’t mine but yours to give?” Brienne said, not missing a beat. 

“You told me you wanted to have fun, sweetheart,” Robb said, shooting Ellaria a quick smile when she glanced at them. “Your husband is nothing but obliging.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how things go in sex clubs. Hence, this and the preceding chapters should be treated as fiction and not as a guide.
> 
> I didn't pair up Brienne with Daario because. . .I just couldn't see it. Not yet at this point of the story. And I don't think she trusts him like she does Robb.


	14. The Red Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sat down on the couch, Oberyn taking the other couch across from them. He licked his lips as Brienne crossed her legs.

Past the balcony in the second floor was a long, narrow hallway that was dark save for the golden illumination at the end. Brienne assumed it was a reception desk of some sort. Ellaria continued to walk ahead of them, her narrow hips swinging under her black pants. Brienne glanced at Robb, who, very much in character, looked both bored yet curious. But his arm was stiff under her hand and she squeezed the tensed muscles there. He gave a quick, barely perceptible nod as Ellaria paused before the reception desk. Like her, the woman behind it was another slinky brunette, dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt, black vest and black pants.

“Mr. Alliser and Mrs. Tysha Thorne,” Ellaria told the woman. “New members, guests of Mr. Oberyn Martell.”

“He is waiting for them in the Arbor Room,” the woman told her, yet made sure to smile at Robb and Brienne. Robb did the smiling. Brienne just nodded.  
“Mr. Martell requests that I tell you that you may order anything you want,” Ellaria said to them as they followed her down another hallway. The music had receded into dull, faint beats that still caused small tremors in the floor under their shoes. “The Red Room has a wine cellar that houses only the best and rarest vintage, the finest cheeses and anything else our guests may require.”

“Anything?” Robb asked, slipping his arm from under Brienne’s hand to clasp her around the waist.

Ellaria stopped next to a door. Her smile was seductive as she gave Robb a lingering look from head to toe, as if licking him. Brienne kept her face impassive as the other woman’s eyes drifted to her, judgment flickering briefly in her stare before she plastered on a fixed, professional smile. It was clear that Ellaria was asking herself what an ugly woman such as Brienne was doing with someone like Robb. 

Words are wind and so are thoughts, Brienne told herself.

“The Red Room has a wide array of devices and every imaginable instrument that would bring and heighten your pleasure,” Ellaria answered. “You ask, we come.”

Brienne could care less that the woman was practically drooling all over Robb. Robb had a too-bland expression on his face that she had learned over the years meant he was getting annoyed as well. 

“I guess we will see. Is that him behind the door?”

Ellaria opened the door. “May you have a wonderful evening.”

Robb and Brienne entered the room. 

Brienne thought she had seen it all but no, she had not seen anything like this.  
She expected a place such as The Red Room to of course have red walls. She just didn’t expect to see a lot of red, wall-to-wall red. What she didn’t expect was save for the too-vibrant color of the walls, the rest of the room was a slice out of suburbia. Of course, she knew without looking that the upholstery on the sofa and accompanying seats were of the finest, most delicate silk, that the fabrics that covered the throw pillows were the softest cashmere.  
A small yet intricate crystal chandelier hung on the high ceiling. Brienne glanced at Robb, wondering if he was thinking the same as she was.  
In her ear, Jon spoke, “Remember, you have to get the access codes.”

The access codes to the computer system of Westeros Central Agency were only known by Oberyn and Howland. From the research they had done, Oberyn was too smart to keep it lying around in a piece of paper. He had to have memorized it or it kept someplace that was always on his person. Sam had tried different combinations of numbers and dates, letters, based on Oberyn Martell’s wife but he was unsuccessful. That was tricky too—he had to remain undetected so he could only make the hacking attempts last for less than a minute. Any more and the system was alerted to a possible intruder.  
The crackling flames from the fireplace drew their heads toward it. An overstuffed, swivel chair facing them away started turning. Robb’s arm around Brienne’s waist was secure as the chair finally faced them, revealing the lazy yet elegant slouch of Oberyn Martell.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thorne,” he said, rising gracefully. Brienne noticed that he had discarded the black suit jacket he had been wearing. He wore only a white shirt and narrow, black trousers. He extended a hand to them. “I’m Oberyn Martell.”

Oberyn Martell had thick, heavy black hair that curled at his nape. His eyes were round with thick, dark lashes. His face was on the small side, and came with a narrow nose and narrow lips. Yet his cheekbones were angular and his eyes hinted at his sharp, brilliant mind. He had unbuttoned the two top buttons of his shirt, revealing the olive column of his strong throat.

“Oberyn,” Robb said, taking his hand.

Brienne forced herself to remain still as Oberyn bent to kiss her hand. She almost jumped when she felt the quick, wet slide of his tongue across a knuckle. Then he straightend up, as if nothing had happened.

“I took the liberty of ordering us champagne,” Oberyn told them as he strode towards a sparkling golden bucket crammed with ice and a bottle of champagne. “Shall I pour you a glass?” 

They shouldn’t drink on the job but Robb told Oberyn, “One glass wouldn’t hurt. I’m sure my life would love it.”

Brienne glared at him while Oberyn gave them his back to fulfill the order. Ignoring her, Robb continued, “How do you know about us, Mr. Martell?”

“Please, no need for formalities,” Oberyn said, returning with two flutes containing bubbly, golden champagne. “I’m Oberyn and you’re Alliser. And you, my dear,” he said, thrusting the delicate glass toward Brienne’s breasts, “are Tysha.”

Brienne steeled herself from the blush rising in her cheeks as Oberyn flicked a heated, appreciative glance at her body, lingering on her eyes. Then he glanced at Robb and he tilted his head, assessing him before giving a small nod. 

“I have not seen you before,” Oberyn told them, gesturing that they sit on the couches. Brienne noted that his jacket was tossed carelessly on the back of the couch across from where he was directing them. Robb squeezed her hand, signalling he saw it too. They knew that if Oberyn didn’t have the codes in his head, it was somewhere else that was often close to his person. 

They sat down on the couch, Oberyn taking the other couch across from them. He licked his lips as Brienne crossed her legs. 

“We were just. . .invited,” Robb said, smiling after that pause. He sipped champagne. Brienne guided hers towards her lips and only let the liquid touch her lips. She didn’t believe in drinking on the job. “This is our first night.”

“First night and already in my lair,” Oberyn mused. He smiled at Brienne. He wasn’t a handsome man but he wasn’t ugly either. He was smooth and slick but not those oily, creepy types, Brienne determined. “But you are an unusual couple.”

“How so, Oberyn?” Brienne asked. 

“Guys, we’re growing old here. What the fuck are you doing with niceties” Jon growled in her ear. Robb winced, indicating he heard it too.  
“You look strong, Tysha,” Oberyn said honestly. “Your eyes are the kind people would drown in. And you have legs that could kill a man. As for you, Alliser, you seem the kind of man who responds to strength. Only a few of us are like that, Alliser.” His eyes flickered back to Brienne. “Good for us because we don’t have to fight off many.”

Brienne trailed her fingers up and down Robb’s thigh, her touch light, the gesture intimate. But she was spelling with every stroke of her fingers these words: What’s the play?

“There’s no need to flatter us, Oberyn,” she said, smiling softly. “We know why we’re here.”

Oberyn’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, we’ll get to that. I’m a firm believer in drawing things out. There’s so much pleasure in the end.”

“On that I agree,” Robb said, grinning at him then at Brienne. “It’s the sweetest.”

“But, I have to admit, present company is making me think otherwise,” Oberyn said, his voice dropping to a seductive timbre.

“Let’s not waste good champagne,” Brienne said coyly, once again bringing the flute to her lips. This time she imbibed a little. Oberyn will get suspicious if the amount in her glass remained the same. The champagne was cool silk sliding down her throat.

“Get this show on the road, for crying out loud,” Jon complained in her ear.

“I agree as well, Tysha. Alliser, you’re about to run dry. Shall I refill your glass?” 

“Later,” Robb said. Then he chuckled. “Unless you mean to make me drunk so you can have your way with my wife?”

“An idea very much worth pursuing.” Oberyn said. He looked at them. “Perhaps we should talk about what we can expect from each other later. Not much later, I hope.”  


Robb slipped an arm around Brienne’s shoulders. The gesture was possessive. “Her cunt is mine,” he said, his other hand on her knee. He traced light circles on Brienne’s skin, then squeezed the firm muscle there. 

“That’s the only no-go area, Oberyn,” Brienne told him, although her stomach was in knots. “And yours? What do you expect from us?”

“I’m a man of many tastes. I don’t believe in depriving myself of pleasure.”

His eyes were black coals as they regarded Brienne first then Robb, before they lowered to his crotch.

“Neither do I,” Robb told him, his voice also dropping.

“What else would you like to do?” Brienne pretended nonchalance as Robb’s hand slipped between her thighs and started stroking the softer skin there. Sure enough, Oberyn’s eyes followed his hand. “Ellaria mentioned that we can request for anything we want. Do you have something in mind?”

“Nothing too adventurous tonight,” Oberyn told her. “Can’t we get to know each other’s bodies and sighs first? It’s been a while since I’ve partaken of the flesh.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Brienne leaned toward Robb and nuzzled his neck. In truth, she was hiding the small smile at her lips. Her partner was beginning to flirt.

“Oh, I fuck regularly, Alliser. But it’s been a while since I’ve just fucked. But for your later reference, I enjoy handcuffs and the occasional belt. Your skin, Tysha. I can’t wait to paint it with stripes. But only if you are willing.”

“I haven’t tried,” Brienne looked at Robb. “What do you think?”

“I’m not comfortable with the idea of another man hitting my wife,” Robb said to Oberyn.

“I won’t be hitting your wife, Alliser. I will only give her pleasure. But only if she trusts me with her body.”

“I don’t just let strangers stripe me,” Brienne said in a teasing tone. 

"Of course, Tysha. You have a lovely name--forgive me if I keep saying it," Oberyn told her. "It's unusual and suits only a woman like you. I myself don't believe in going straightaway to the feast but I would certainly agree to a taste."

The look he gave them was dark and significant. 

Brienne stilled and she felt Robb hold his breath as well. A second later, they resumed their play. She brushed her lips on Robb's cheek while her hand played with the buttons of his shirt. His hand between her thighs tightened, gripping the muscles there. Then he turned to her, his blue eyes smoky and licked her lips before fully taking them in his mouth.

He cupped her nape and drew her closer, deeper into his kiss. She tilted her head, massaging his mouth with her own. Their kiss was ferocious yet slow, their hands on each other lingering and gentle. He ran a hand up and down Brienne's bare back, cupped her ass briefly before drawing his arm around her waist and pressing her tight and hard against him. Her leg began to hitch up. 

As their breathing picked up, Jon groaned in their ears.

"Oathkeeper. Wolf. Come on. You honestly aren't making us listen to this."

"I need a barf bag," Sam agreed.

"Fuck you," Robb whispered between kisses. Brienne hissed a curse at them as well. 

"I'm sorry?" Oberyn asked. Robb ripped his mouth away from Brienne.

Brienne, her hands still on Robb's chest, watched as he beckoned to Oberyn Martell. "I want to fuck," he said.

Oberyn Martell stood. His erection strained against his pants.

Robb looked back at Brienne. Her lips looked pinker and plumper from their kiss but her sapphire eyes were steely, cold. His finger slid down slowly between the bared V-neckline of her dress. She inclined her head, understanding him, and turned to Oberyn.

"You like what you just saw?" She asked him sweetly.

“Very much," he said, his voice tight. He looked at Robb. "But with your permission, I would like a moment alone with your wife."

Damn, this was going to be easier than they thought. But Robb's arms around her waist kept her on his lap as Oberyn approached them. Once he was close enough, he bent, first kissing Robb deeply on the mouth. It didn't escape Brienne's notice how Robb took a quick breath before Oberyn's mouth swooped down. She kept her hand on Robb's thigh, caressing him lightly yet deeply, while he gripped the skirt of her dress, crushing the delicate silk. Brienne's adopted a heavy-lidded look when Oberyn pulled away, too slowly, dragging Robb's lower lip between his lips before releasing it with a wet plop. And then he turned to Brienne, eyes very dark, very heated and scooped her face in his hand. Damn, Oberyn Martell knew how to kiss, Brienne thought as as he nibbled at her lips delicately, as if she were a fine morsel. He licked the inside of her top lip before he groaned and drank deeply from her mouth. He tasted of champagne. 

"Would you let me have her?" Oberyn asked Robb, pulling away from Brienne but keeping his gaze on her.

Robb urged Brienne to look at him by returning his hand on her nape. "It's Tysha's decision."

“But Alliser?” Brienne asked Robb.

He kissed her on the cheek. “Whenever you want. Whatever you want.”

Brienne stood up in one smooth motion.

Oberyn took her hand. 

Robb kissed Brienne’s hand. “Enjoy yourself, Tysha.”  
He waited until Oberyn was leading Brienne towards another door, no doubt to the bedroom. He waited for five seconds before he sprang from his seat and reached for Oberyn’s discarded jacket draped on the other sofa. 

 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Oberyn pressed Brienne against it and kissed her.

Brienne’s experience with men were very few and far in between. Nevertheless, a moan was pulled from her as Oberyn took her lips in a succession of tasting, hungry kisses that made her forget she was taller than him by at least three inches barefoot, that she was thick and muscular, ungainly, ugly. He palmed her breast through the silk of her dress and squeezed. He plucked at her nipples, chuckling as she keened.

Matching his seeking mouth, she started kissing him back.

The carvings on the door dug at her back and the back of her thighs. As if sensing her discomfort, Oberyn pulled away, took her by the hand, and began to steer her to bed.

As Brienne followed him, Robb spoke in her ear. “Nothing on his phone, Oathkeeper. Get the codes from him.”

“You have a very understanding husband,” Oberyn said dragging her to sit at the edge of the bed with him. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t let any man see you. I’d lock you up in a dungeon,” he whispered, rubbing his lips against her throat, behind her ear. His hands started unzipping her dress. “Or I’ll keep you in bed. I’ll fuck you until the end of days. Yours are the longest legs I’ve ever seen, Tysha.” Her dress fell. Brienne stiffened as Oberyn eagerly pulled a pink nipple in his mouth while his hand plucked the other. She let him kiss and suck her nipples, all the while gritting her her teeth until he raised his head. 

He grinned as his hands delved between her thighs. Brienne opened them wider, not because she wanted his touch but for him to not discover the holster around one. As Oberyn groaned when he encountered the lace of her underwear, she yanked at his hair, arching his neck sharply. Then she pulled the knife from the holster and pressed the blade on his throat.

“Rough, are we?” He murmured, oblivious.

“Working.” Brienne yanked at his hair again. She climbed over his lap and used her superior weight and build to pin him on the bed. She locked her legs around his ribs, squeezing him. All the while, she kept the knife on his throat.

“Say the codes, Martell, or I’ll slash you from throat to balls,” she whispered right above his lips.

“What—What—?” Realizing she wasn’t playing, Oberyn started to struggle. She tightened her legs around his ribs and he gasped.

“Say the fucking codes,” Brienne growled and this time drew blood.

“Codes? What fucking codes—Ah!” Oberyn cried out when she slammed her knee at his ribs. Then she suddenly switched their positions.  
This time she was behind him, arms and legs locked tight around his body, her hand still keeping his neck arched high and the other with a knife at his throat.

“The codes to the WCA. Lie and I’ll choke you with your own cock. The codes, Martell!”

She pressed the blade deeper. A sliver of blood began to drip down his chest. Oberyn squeaked before she yanked at his hair again. 

“The codes, Martell,” she hissed. 

Oberyn Martell began to choke them out.

“Got it,” Sam said in her ear. 

Brienne reached in her holster again, getting the sedative there. She bit off the needle cap, pressed the needle into Oberyn and pressed the plunger. He groaned, struggling. She clamped a hard hand around his mouth until his struggles eased and stopped

She hopped off him, ripped open his shirt and yanked down his pants. She raised her eyebrow upon discovering that the Red Viper did have an impressive viper in his pants. She bit back a laugh and scrambled off the bed. 

When he wakes up two days from now, he's going to think he had the best sex of his life, she thought, leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this chapter some more. Forgive me for being half-dead when I uploaded this last night. But if there's going to be swinging Oberyn, there HAS to be a kiss between him and Robb. Right? Right?


	15. The Faceless Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your eyes look tired, Cat,” he remarked.  
> “I’ve seen too much of the world, I’m afraid.”  
> “You know you can always get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn POV.

As Jon was leading the team on their mission regarding Oberyn Martell, Catelyn Stark found herself pulling up in an old street flanked by buildings so rundown they looked ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. A glance at her watch told her it was nine-thirty in the evening.

The hours were long, and often endless, at The Golden Company. Yet Catelyn had made it a point to be home to join her family for dinner, or if not, to put her children to bed. Robb had his own place now while Sansa was in the army. Arya was on her junior year in college and lived in the dorms. Bran was off to college in the next fall and a year after that, Rickon. 

It was probably strange that she still believed in tucking the two children that still lived at home, teenagers they already were. Catelyn wanted to do it and needed to do it. Coming home meant she could forget for a few hours that the world was a terrible place. Seeing her sons sprawled on their beds, headphones playing gods-awful rock music jammed to their ears, reminded her who she was fighting for. She may be a sworn agent of Westeros but there was her family. Family was not first nor second, it simply was.

But she was far from home. As she drove, a message came through from Ned to her cellphone. Tonight’s dinner was roast chicken in rosemary, served with a side of baby carrots and sweet potatoes, he had told her. Dessert was pecan pie. There was a familiar twist in her heart upon reading this but she soldiered through what was needed to be done. 

Catelyn slipped out of the car and looked around, tucking her hands in her coat pockets as she did. The street was poorly-lit, the lamps weak and flickering, casting a gray, weak light on the ground. She made out three junkies maybe fifteen yards from her. They were huddled together and exchanging needles. Catelyn lowered her hands but pressed her arm close to her ribs as she approached her destination. The gun strapped on her waist as reassuring, as was the other strapped around her ankle.

She walked, minding her surroundings. She could shoot between the eyes at four hundred yards, could break the spine of someone twice her size with her elbows but they were not armour against a man, or men, flung to the sky from those nasty substances. Catelyn almost breathed a sigh of relief as she knocked on the glass door of Sin Rostro Tailoring.

It was after hours but she knew the door would be answered.

The blinds were pulled up. A man with long, golden brown hair and gray eyes stared at her. His face was lined and made him look older than his actual years.  
“Valar morghulis,” Catelyn said.

The door swung open, creaking as it did. “Valar dohaeris.”

The man stood aside and Catelyn stepped in. It was warm in the shop and smelled of cotton and linen but she didn’t make any move to remove her coat. She turned to him and began to speak in code.

“The night is dark and full of terrors,” she began to say, “this one seeks a suit of armor against the beasts and evils outside the door.” 

“A man can provide,” he responded, “but what life you take should be given back.”

“Not even when it’s this one’s life that will be taken if naught is done?”

“It is known.”

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

He met her gaze and flung her words back at her. “So it is known.”

Catelyn nodded. “It is good to see you, Jaqen H’ghar.”

“The pleasure is mine, Cat,” he said, giving her a quick, warm smile. He locked the door behind him, pulled the blinds down and went behind the counter. She followed him.

Jaqen H’ghar wasn’t very tall but he was muscular and moved like a blade, quick and precise. He was dressed in a worn blue sweater and faded jeans with a rip on one knee.

The shop had clearly fallen on harder times. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint. The chair needed to be re-upholstered as some of them had already ripped at the seams to reveal the stuffing underneath. A small platform leaned against the full-length mirror. This needed a good, hard scrub.

When Catelyn returned her attention to Jaqen, she saw him watching her. She cleared her throat.

“Your eyes look tired, Cat,” he remarked. 

“I’ve seen too much of the world, I’m afraid.”

“You know you can always get out.”

Catelyn didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say about that except that she believed in her duty to Westeros. Westeros and family. Family and Westeros. Both came first to her. 

It was something Jaqen could never understand. It was more than twenty years now yet Catelyn never forgot the pain. She still carried it with her.

“I need information.” Catelyn said, changing the subject. “Targaryen Industries. Viserys Targaryen. The Lannisters, particularly the twins, Jaime and Cersei. And Howland Reed.”

Jaqen was surprised. “What do you need to know about the director of WCA?”

“I can't tell you."

“What makes you think I won’t know what you want when it’s me who’ll be sieving for it?”

“You don’t know why. Didn't you teach me that? The facts are secondary. Why is what matters.”

“I don’t care _why._ I want to know what you need.”

“Anything. Whatever you can find. It’s. . .It’s important.”

“Everything concerning WCA is,” Jaqen sounded bitter.

“I need to understand what’s going on. I’m sorry there’s nothing more I can tell. I’m sorry that all I can do is ask.”

Jaqen hung his head. “That’s just it, Cat. You never have to ask from me. When it’s you, I’m a lapdog.”

“That’s not how I see you.”

“You don’t see me.”

Catelyn was impatient. “Can you help me or not?”

“Yes. Always, Cat. You can count on it.” Jaqen told her. “About the payment—“

Catelyn reached in her coat pocket and pulled out a thick bundle of bills. She slammed it down on the counter.

“Ten thousand gold dragons,” she told him. “To start.

“When do I get the rest of it?”

“When you deliver the information in a place where I won’t be mugged or have my eyes plucked out. ”  
“Done. Give me a week.”

“Two days.”

“What the fuck, Catelyn?”

“Two days,” she repeated firmly. “Ten thousand now, twenty thousand golden dragons when you deliver.”

“Who’s bankrolling you? Has the patriotic Catelyn Stark gone rogue? Or dark?”

“No one. Can you help me or not?”

Jaqen regarded her from behind the counter. 

“Because I can do this on my own, Jaqen,” Catelyn said, ignoring his inquiring look. 

Blast it, why did he always forget that once Catelyn Stark set her mind on something, it got done?He wondered, both feeling that residual anger from years before and admiration for her determination.  


“You’ll have the information you want in two days.” Jaqen told her.

“Don’t disappoint me,” Catelyn said as she turned to leave. Outside, the wind picked up. She hissed as she felt its icy slap on her cheeks. She looked up at the dark night, starless and blank. It was easy remembering this when memories of Jaqen began to slip into her life. It was harder to will herself to think of black, blank spaces when just thinking of him caused her to waver in all that she had stood for. Resolutely, she stalked back to her car, hands fisted in her coat. 

"I'd rather face the noose," Jaqen muttered, his eyes still on the door long after she was gone.


	16. No Rest for the Weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Things will be asked of you,” Jaime said, urging her to look at him with a gentle push of his finger at her chin. He was almost as tall as she was, but not as broad. His eyes were not bloodshot but clear and very green, like the most brilliant emeralds. “Things you swore to never do as an agent, let alone a human being.”  
> “Jaime—“ she began to say but he cupped her cheek. His palm was rough and dry yet she leaned toward his touch. His eyes took on a golden light.  
> “You will lose everything, Brienne. There is nothing you can do. But it needs to be done. There is no other way. When you've lost, you will gain everything. ”
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO, SOME DAARIO POV

By the time Jon, Sam, Robb, Daario and Brienne returned to the offices of The Golden Company, they had been awake and moving for almost twenty hours. Brienne couldn’t believe that less than a day had passed since Jaime’s distress call. When she replayed in her mind today’s events, her body got heavier with exhaustion. Yawning twice during the scans before being admitted into the inner sanctum of the office resulted in a warning blare, prompting Robb to look at her. She waved away his concern and tried again. Finally she was successful.

She yawned long and rudely as she followed them, rubbing her eyes as she did. It would be bliss to be back at her apartment, in her own bed. But with a mission that brought more questions than answers, it was best that remained in the agents’ quarters, resting areas prepared for them. Catelyn, they were told, had left and most likely wouldn’t be back until early tomorrow morning. Jon took it to mean that he could go home and offered to drop off Sam, who was also eager to sleep in his own bed. 

Daario announced that he needed a stiff drink. “Good scotch,” he told them. And invited Robb and Brienne to join him.

Brienne shook her head. “Thank you, but I can hardly stand now.” Her words were true. She yawned in between these words and she was staggering and struggling with her balance as if drunk. When she started to pitch forward, Robb quickly tucked an arm under her and wrapped it around her waist.

“This one needs to go to bed,” Robb told Daario. “Next time.”

“Nah. It just means more for me,” Daario said and waved goodbye.

“I can get myself to bed, you know,” Brienne complained to Robb as he half-dragged and half-carried her to the quarters. She said this as she leaned heavily against him. Robb had to swallow a groan as his arms began to strain. 

“To bed? Doubtftul. The floor, most likely,” he told her, shouldering the door open and continuing to tow her. 

It was a single room with four beds covered in white sheets and pillows and a navy blanket. It was bare save for the beds. Robb began to drag her towards the nearest one but Brienne shook her head and with her chin, pointed to the one at the farthest end, against a wall. 

Once there, Brienne pulled away from Robb and crawled in, groaning. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Do you have a change of clothes?” He asked, dropping heavily on the bed next to hers. He began to kick off his dress shoes. They were still dressed in the clothes from The Red Room.

“In my locker. Not for sleep,” Brienne murmured, her face pressed against the pillow. She lay on her stomach, her rump in the air. 

Robb wondered if he should tug the skirt of her dress down. It had flown to her back when she crashed on the mattress, showing him that as unfeminine as Brienne Tarth looked in her suits, she wore delicate lace underwear. If he did, she was going to hiss at him, good and innocent his intentions were. If he didn’t. . .well, her freckled ass in bikini-style underwear was hardly an eyesore. But they were partners and friends. 

Brienne began to snore, a soft, guttural sound. Robb got up to remove her shoes and dropped them gently on the floor at the foot of her bed. He removed her holster next. Now that he wasn’t in character, it was one hell of an awkward moment putting his hand between her muscular thighs. Then he got a blanket from one of the beds—she was fast asleep on top of the one on her bed and he didn’t have the energy to lift her off it anymore—and draped it over her. Brienne sighed and pressed her head deeper into the pillow. He put her holster and gun under her bed. 

Robb summoned what little energy reserves his body had to bring himself to the shower. He rubbed his hair and body quickly, harshly, under the spray of warm water. Adrenaline only brought the human body so far, and since his body had been flung from high-energy activities to dormant ones all day, he was finally experiencing the battering expected from the stress. A headache that promised to be a full-blown migraine began to form somewhere in the middle of his brain. He finished getting cleaned up and, wearing only a towel, went to his locker. He put on a long-sleeved t-shirt and jogging pants, took an aspirin and went to bed.

As Robb began to sink into a deeper sleep, Brienne found herself in a strange world. She knew she was dreaming but felt there was no need to wake yet—not when it involved the warm, sapphire waters of Tarth, the aroma of hot chocolate warming the kitchen. This was home, the soft tang of salt in the air, a sweet beverage and her father’s library with its floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books.

She saw in her favorite room in the house. She was on her feet, leaning towards a huge book as her hand rested firmly on the long table in the library at home. The finger of her other hand was tracing the map of Essos. She tapped a fingernail on the markings of Braavos, Lorath and Volantis. 

“Braavos, Lorath, Volantis,” she murmured, her finger going back and forth. “Braavos, Lorath, Volantis.”

“She was of Lorath but was raised in Braavos,” Selwyn’s voice startled her. She looked up and saw her father standing on the other side of the table.

Selwyn Tarth was not a handsome man but looked strong and formidable—his muscular, six-foot-seven frame made Brienne think of his as a knight of the old. Yet not once had her father raised his voice at her. It was funny how old he looked, since he wasn’t this old when she saw him last summer, Brienne thought in her dream. True, his hair was still thick but gone was its pale, straw colour and was now white all over. He looked a little stooped but still tall. His eyes, blue like her own, were as gentle as ever.

Brienne suddenly felt old. When she looked back at the map, she was startled to find blood spreading from her hand and spreading across the map. She gasped and removed it.

“Dad, I swear—“ she started to say but he shook his head.

“None of this is your doing,” he told her.

“What did I do?” She asked. Her stomach was turning as she heard her blood plop on the floor.

“The right thing, Brienne. It is the right thing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Whoever understands love?” A strange yet very familiar voice spoke from behind her. Brienne whirled around and her eyes were suddenly wide as saucers.

“What are you doing here, Jaime?”

Jaime Lannister, who had materialized from out of nowhere, stood by the shelves. His cheeks and jaw were dark and rough with stubble and he looked tired. He was wearing the clothes they had brought him in, rumpled and stained by the blood from when Robb had punched him.

He took a step toward her and Brienne, acting swiftly, reached behind her and pointed a gun at him.

“No closer, Lannister.”

“There is nothing you can do.” There was a determined jut in his jaw and he continued forward. Brienne pressed the trigger and fired.

Jaime flinched but she didn’t hit him. Instead the bullet got stuck in one of the heavy, old volumes in the shelves.

“It’s the right thing to do, Brienne,” he told her.

“What are you talking about?” Brienne whipped around to look at her father but he was gone. Once again facing Jaime, she trained her gun on him. “Where’s my Dad? What did you do to him?”

“Like you, I was only doing my duty,” Jaime sounded bitter.

“Jaime, please, I don’t understand—“

“Do you ever understand anything you do, Brienne? When it’s for the good of the realm?”

“I’m a soldier and agent of Westeros. I do my duty and that is to fulfil what I am commanded.”

“And you do it so well.”

He was close enough. She could smell his sweat and blood. His scent was a punch to her gut. Wordlessly, she watched as he took her gun and laid it on the table, right on top of the map of Essos, where she had bled earlier. She was startled to find the page dry, clean—as if her blood hadn’t poured onto it earlier.  
“Things will be asked of you,” Jaime said, urging her to look at him with a gentle push of his finger at her chin. He was almost as tall as she was, but not as broad. His eyes were not bloodshot but clear and very green, like the most brilliant emeralds. “Things you swore to never do as an agent, let alone a human being.”

“Jaime—“ she began to say but he cupped her cheek. His palm was rough and dry yet she leaned toward his touch. His eyes took on a golden light.

“You will lose everything, Brienne. There is nothing you can do. But it needs to be done. There is no other way. When you've lost, you will everything.”

She shook her head. “No.”

_“Yes._.We don’t get to choose who we love.” Jaime sounded rueful as he caressed her cheek. “Just as we don’t get to choose when they leave us. Well, sometimes, they choose when to leave us. People are cruel. It is not enough that they take your heart. They take away everything else. Do not forget.”

“Jaime, I—“

“Hush. It’s alright.” He cupped her face in his palms. A lock of his blond hair fell on his forehead. “Look at me. It’s alright.”

And he pulled her toward him. He mashed his lips against her in a wet, seeking kiss. He sucked at her too-plump lower lip before tugging it lightly between his teeth. She breathed harshly, her hands fisting at his shirt. It was wrong, he was an asset, she didn’t trust him, but her body yielded into his, softened at the slightest urging from his mouth, the barest touch of his hands that became bold and bolder with every second.. She gasped as he ripped open her shirt, saw the fire in his eyes. “Mine,” he whispered, looking at her face as he plucked a pink nipple to an aching tightness. 

He began to pull her back to him when she felt something. . . _someone._

Brienne looked past Jaime’s shoulder and saw her. Blond and of the light. Familiar yet a Stranger. She froze, clinging on to Jaime helplessly. He continued chanting, “Mine,” in her ear. 

“You’re no one,” the woman said and showed her the gun Jaime had taken from her. 

The gunshot cut off Brienne’s scream. 

****

While Brienne was having a nightmare, Daario was at a quiet bar in a hotel. It was miles from work, and even farther from home. It was probably strange to drive so far just for a glass of good scotch when it was easily available. But distance was always a comfort for Daario. As long as there were miles and miles between him and the day he’d had, he could let himself relax. 

It wasn’t even his favorite bar but when he’d checked his phone for piano performances, this place had the top recommendation. He couldn’t even remember the name, only its promise of a damn excellent glass of scotch and piano music by a maestro who called himself Moonsinger. A tragic, cheesy name for a virtuoso performance, Daario thought as he swilled the scotch in his mouth before lowering the glass.

He sighed and concentrated on listening to the soothing melody from the piano performance in front of him. 

Quiet moments were rare in the life he had chosen. He had been in the spy game for close to ten years but felt it had been longer. On the outside, he looked strong and he was—running seven miles five days a week and lifting weights kept him in tip-top shape, not to mention constant honing of his skills in hand-to-hand combat and the handling and wielding of every weapon imaginable.

Yet his medical records show a body that had gone through severe damages in the past. He’d had four concussions and once, during a fall, his brain had bounced and rendered him blind for a while, an incapacity that almost led to his being removed from service. His eardrum had been ruptured more times than he could count when an enemy punched him in the ears and disoriented him. Nerves in his left hand were damaged, which brought either numbness on his fingers or pain, especially when over-exerted. A portion of his stomach had to be cut off when he took three bullets there. 

He had every right to turn away from this life because of this. He was still young at only thirty-eight years old. More than enough time to find a good woman and love her, fuck her often enough in the week so she wouldn’t stray, have children, start all over again. He had studied industrial engineering in college but these days fancied operating a food truck or a small restaurant—work that still kept him literally on his feet but instead of bullets he would be dodging spitting grease this time. It was a pleasant thought, one that either made him smile or laugh but he knew it was a dream and no more. He knew that the other agents, Brienne Tarth, especially, were in the service specifically to protect the ones they loved. He had no one, not even a damned cat. Personally, he thought it silly that in order to prove love toward another, you had to risk your life. Love meant fighting to remain at your side, no matter what. Since there was no one, what reasons did he have for staying with the Golden Company, where the next mission may be his last?

Howland Reed.

Oh, he understood Catelyn Stark’s frustration and even admired her for willingly butting heads with the director of WCA. That didn’t diminish Daario’s loyalty to the man any less. Had it not been for Howland Reed, he certainly wouldn’t be in this hotel sipping a forty-year-old scotch. He probably wouldn’t have even made it past twenty-one-years old, which was when he met Howland and learned what it meant to actually swear an oath. Because of Howland, Daario knew that there were people as damaged as he was, damaged more than their bodies would ever know. He wasn’t, he couldn’t save them all but there was one, there was always one that needed to be pulled out of the water and brought back to shore, maybe even given air. 

Howland never demanded payment nor anything. Only that Daario accept an assignment at The Golden Company. Why, he never said and Daario never asked. You trusted the man who saved your life. You never asked him questions. 

That should be the case. But in the last twenty hours, Daario himself wanted to know what Howland Reed’s endgame was. Jaime Lannister was only doing as instructed yet so far, Howland hadn’t lifted a finger. He’d all but thrown the scientist under the bus. 

He was about to sip the rest of his drink when a drone from somewhere behind the bar reached his ears. Frowning, Daario followed the sound and saw the TV screen mounted high.

“My good fellow,” he told the bartender. “Could you turn that up?”

The bartender nodded and turned up the volume of the news. 

“We have unconfirmed reports of the kidnapping of Jaime Lannister at the Targaryen Industries this morning,” the newscaster was saying, her face grim. “Spokespersons for both the Targaryens and the Lannisters have yet to return our calls. We warn the viewers of the fairly graphic footage your are about to see.”

Daario nearly fell off his stool as the image of the fight between Jaime and Brienne filled the screen. Brienne had her back turned to the camera as she lunged and attacked Jaime. Jaime looked confused and terrified yet very determined to get away. The last image were of the two of them crashing down the stairs before the video feed flickered to black.

Then the screen was filled with the newscaster’s face again. She continued with the usual information: Jaime Lannister was a son of Tywin Lannister, president and CEO of LannCorp and twin brother of its vice-president, Cersei. A mysterious falling out resulted in Jaime working for Viserys Targaryen. . .

Daario flung several bills next to his drink and stuffed a twenty-dragon tip into the bowl of the piano player, who was still rendering Westerosi classics. Walking fast, Daario whipped his phone out of his pocket and dialled.

“We’re fucked,” he said to the person who answered. “We have to assemble the team and move now.” 

He got in his car and sped toward the black night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned. Daario's been on the sidelines for a while. Watch out for more of his POVs.


	17. Dominoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just then, their cellphones rang. Robb told her to stay when she tried to leave. He picked up the vibrating device from the bedside table between them. It was Catelyn.  
> “We may have been compromised,” she told him without preamble. “Where’s Brienne?”  
> Robb met Brienne’s curious gaze. “She’s with me. We’re at the Golden Company headquarters.”  
> “Stay there. Daario’s off to get Jon. I’ll be swinging by Sam’s.” And the call was over.  
> “What is it?” Brienne asked as Robb put the phone down. When he told her, she frowned and said, her voice clearing. “It’s Jaime. He has to be behind this.”

Robb poured fresh, steaming coffee into a cup. He would glance at Brienne every now and then. They had only been asleep for three hours when her screaming and thrashing rudely awakened him. When Robb had punched the lights on, he saw Brienne sitting up in her bed, red-faced and a wild, terrified look in her blue eyes. She had looked at him disbelievingly and her hand swiftly moved under the sheet for her gun.

“Easy,” he told her, speaking in the calmest voice he could manage when his throat and mouth were dry from sleep. He approached her one step at a time, as if she were a hissing, aggressive animal. “Easy. You’re awake. It’s over. It’s just a bad dream.”

He held up his hands as he did. 

Her breath was quick, violent puffs that made her redder. Her eyes, the clearest, most vibrant sapphires, looked dull and lifeless. She blinked rapidly at him and he paused, his arms still poised away from his sides.

“Brienne, it’s me,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes and nodded. Then her shoulders slumped. He went to her then and pulled her to his chest. She was a lot bigger than he was and more muscular but her heart pounded against his chest like a terrified kitten’s. He let her sink against him, the sweat coating her skin and her dress rubbing against him. Her cheek was fever-hot yet also clammy against his. He continued making soothing sounds against her ear, rubbing her back softly. 

“It’s my Dad,” she gasped against his neck, her cracked lips moving against the bared skin there.

“He’s safe. It’s a bad dream.” He kissed her sweat-dotted temple. “It’s alright.”

She clung to him, her grip crushing. “He said that.”

“Who? Your Dad?”

He felt rather than saw her shake her head. 

“Tell me?” He asked. But she shook her head. 

She pulled away, her arms dropping heavily. He released her too, but more gently. She wasn’t as flushed anymore but the front of her dress had the dark stains of sweat. Her blond hair stood on its end. Goosebumps started to traverse down her arms and she shivered.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” Robb told her. “You’ll get sick.” 

“It will take a lot more than a nightmare to get me sick,” she muttered and he found himself grinning. There she was, his favorite girl.

“Where’s my gun?” She asked as she made to leave the bed. 

“Under,” he said, glancing at the space where he left it. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

She shook her head again. “It’s been a long day,” she said, shrugging. “That must be it.”

Just then, their cellphones rang. Robb told her to stay when she tried to leave. He picked up the vibrating device from the bedside table between them. It was Catelyn.  
“We may have been compromised,” she told him without preamble. “Where’s Brienne?”

Robb met Brienne’s curious gaze. “She’s with me. We’re at the Golden Company headquarters.”

“Stay there. Daario’s off to get Jon. I’ll be swinging by Sam’s.” And the call was over.

“What is it?” Brienne asked as Robb put the phone down. When he told her, she frowned and said, her voice clearing. “It’s Jaime. He has to be behind this.”  
“We don’t know yet,” Robb cautioned. He didn’t like the guy but believed in being fair. “You need a shower.” When she scowled at him, he rolled his eyes. “You’ll get sick if you don’t get out of those sweaty clothes soon. I can get you warm milk.”

“I’m not a fucking child, Robb,” Brienne complained, rising. Her dress was crumpled around her, like limp, crushed tissue paper. Robb looked up at her. The top of his hair was at the level of her chin.

“Tea, then.”

“Coffee.”

He frowned. “That’s the last thing you need.”

“It’s precisely what I need to be somewhere between alive and dead,” she pointed out. 

“You should go back to sleep.”

“You think Catelyn would like to find me asleep when our lives are in danger?” Brienne snapped. Realizing her sharp tone, she flushed and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”  
Brienne was finished with her shower faster than it took Robb to brew the coffee. She looked a little better, the pink in her cheeks ruddy rather than the too-bright shade that indicated fever. There was still a haunted look in her eyes, he noticed as he poured coffee into her cup, but it wasn’t as wild as before. What had she dreamed about? He’d been on many missions with Brienne, had found himself fast asleep and snoring next to her but this was the first time she had a nightmare. Pouring himself a cup, Robb wondered if he could convince Sam to look up Brienne’s medical records, just to see, not snoop.

They brought their cups to the conference room. They were dressed in their dark suits. Only a close inspection showed that neither of them didn’t get enough sleep though that can be remedied by coffee in a bit. They were halfway through their drink when Daario burst in, frowning. 

His long hair was wild, as if he’d run all the way to the office rather than having driven. There was a dangerous look in his face. Jon, strolling in after he did, looked grimmer than usual. Brienne set aside her cup.

“Catelyn says we’ve been compromised? How?” She asked them.

Daario held up a finger at her before he shut the door. Brienne and Robb exchanged a look. The walls of the conference room were clear glass, except for the one that had a TV mounted against it. Rotating shifts kept people in the office at all times. Brienne crossed her arms, her forehead furrowed as Daario strode toward the TV and switched it on. He went to a random channel.

It was another report about Jaime Lannister’s kidnapping. . .another report on the footage of their tussle. Brienne felt her heart slam hard in her chest before it stopped as the news reporter’s words filled the room. “Authorities are still trying to identify the young man seen in the video. Anyone with knowledge as to who this person is is requested to come forward.”

The screen showed a reporter again. Brienne and Robb looked at Daario then Jon.

“How?” She couldn’t form the words. 

Jon looked like he didn’t know whether to punch a hole in the glass or throw things. Seething, he answered, “Sam’s missing.”

“Sam?” Robb echoed in disbelief.

“Catelyn just called us on our way in,” Daario informed them. “She went to his apartment and found it in shambles.”

“Didn’t you see anything amiss when you dropped him off?” Brienne asked Jon.

“He asked to be let out at McFrey’s,” Jon bit out. “Had a hankering for cheeseburger. I would have waited for him but he told me to go home. He wanted to walk home. Told me he’s just a block away and he could use the fresh air.”

“Timeline?” Brienne requested.

“Maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes after we left,” Jon said.

“We’re still tracking when the first broadcast regarding the kidnapping was made,” Daario added.

The implication of his comment was an almost physical blow. Robb whirled around to face him. “Samwell Tarly is a patriot.”

“The circumstances of his disappearance are suspicious,” Daario countered.

“He’s been in the agency longer than any of us,” Brienne protested. “I _know_ Sam.”

“How well do we know anyone?” Daario pointed out. “You are so quick to come to his defense just because you’ve known him longer than me. I wonder how quick you’d leap to the conclusion of my guilt if I had been the one taken.”

“That’s a different matter,” Robb said. “We know nothing about you.”

“I’ve been here for almost three years. I’m a fucking open book. You want me to put all my information on a fucking blog?” Daario exploded. “You could have asked me. Anytime. Any fucking time.”

“Really? Then why do we need a Level Six Clearance to know anything about you?” Jon, who was standing behind Daario, demanded. When Daario didn’t respond, he added, “Even Catelyn can’t access your record without approval from Howland Reed.”

“I don’t fucking know why but you can ask me anything, fuck, anything, anytime,” Daario swore. He glared at the three of them. “Why the fuck are you pinning this on me? I’m here. I’m not a tech nor have I ever done anything remotely close to what Tarly does. Fuck you all for thinking I had something to do with the leak. Fuck you all for daring to question my loyalty to the country and this agency.”

“How can we not when you don’t give a rat’s ass to other agents in the field?” Robb flung at him. “Brienne almost died trying to protect you when you defied a direct order from your team leader.”

“Seven Hells, Stark, are you still sore about that? Your girlfriend's alive.”

At this, Brienne glared at Daario.

“I don’t forget those who can’t be trusted.” Robb said.

“I did not agree with your directive.”

“When you’re out in the field your life is in my hands. I order you to do as I say to keep your fucking life, damn it.”

“My life is mine,” Daario insisted.

“Not when your stupidity almost cost an agent her life,” Robb growled. Brienne looked at him sharply and debated whether to put a hand on his shoulder or to just stay where she was, standing close to him. “Brienne nearly died. Or are you so special because your Howie’s boy that you expect everyone to die for you?”

“That’s not what I am,” Daario hissed.

“Then who are you?” Brienne asked. Daario whipped his head toward her, startled at how quietly she was asking him. “Why are you here?” 

Suddenly the door burst open. Catelyn Stark stood tall and lethal. Her blue eyes zeroed in straight to Daario. Two other agents flanked her.

“In the name of Westeros Central Agency, sworn protector of Westeros, I, Catelyn Stark, arrest you, Daario Naharis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aieee! Where's Sam?


	18. Standoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No harm will come to you,” Brienne said, ignoring Jon. “And I swear to help you prove your innocence.”  
> “But do you trust me, Brienne? Do you swear to trust me?”  
> Brienne swallowed. “I trust you,” she said harshly.  
> Daario nodded and pressed the gun to the skin of Robb’s cheek, distorting it.  
> Brienne grunted and cocked her gun. “Don’t make me renege on it so soon.”  
> “Do as she says, you fuck,” Jon said.

“What the fuck?” Daario demanded as everyone turned to look at Catelyn approaching him. His eyes widened when he realized her words were no jest. Snarling, his muscled arms went around Robb’s chest and throat. Robb roared in protest and in doing so, the hard tip of his boot slammed onto Brienne’s knee, sending her to the floor with a cry. Guns were drawn by the rest but it was too late—Daario already had the lip of his gun pressed on Robb’s temple. 

“I had nothing to do with what you think I did, Catelyn,” Daario hissed, pressing the gun hard on Robb’s skin, who grimaced.

“Lower your gun,” Catelyn held her sidearm with both hands. There was no question of whether her aim was true if forced to shoot. If Robb kept his head right where it was, crammed and angled painfully between Daario’s arm and neck, she would shoot him right on the throat. It was a scenario she didn’t wish to imagine. Her mind was screaming but her grip on the gun was steady and straight.“Do it now or you’ll leave the room in buckets."

“I’ll pump every bullet in your son’s head first,” Daario growled. “How would you like that, _Director Stark?_ ”

“Your intelligence continues to astound me,” Robb grumbled, trying to get free but Daario had him in an unyielding head lock. Catelyn shot her son a warning look.  
“Robb, don’t move,” Brienne snapped. She was still on the floor but had managed to yank the small handgun from her ankle holster when she fell. Keeping her eyes on Daario’s mutinous stare, she slowly rose to her knees, then to her feet. From her spot, there was no easy way to shoot to disable Daario without causing harm to Robb. Not only were the two men nearly the same height and build but Daario was also fast. Too fast. He might be faster than a speeding bullet, Brienne thought, keeping her gun on them. Two, deep lines appeared between her eyebrows as she regarded them.

“This isn’t the way to deal with this, Daario,” she continued. She was the closest to them. “Let him go. We’ll talk this out.”

“Talk this out, are you fucking me?” Daario laughed bitterly. His eyes flashed at Catelyn. “You’re going to arrest me. Throw me in the Black Cells. I’ll never see daylight again. What the fuck did you think I do?”

“If you didn’t do anything wrong as you claim—“ Brienne began and Daario exploded, suddenly bludgeoning Robb at the face with the gun. 

“ _I’ve done nothing wrong,_ you mothefuckers!” Daario shouted as Robb howled in pain. 

“Daario, this is not the way,” Catelyn’s voice was calm and her expression cool. She wouldn’t look at Robb in the eye. “Come with us quietly. We won’t hurt you.”  
“You’ll only throw me in the Black Cells. I have done nothing but serve my country.”

“Then why did you take Sam?”

Daario looked startled. Only then did everyone realize that Jon, who had spoken, wasbehind him all along and was looking for the perfect opportunity to surprise him. Jon pressed his gun right at the back of Daario’s skull and cocked it.

“If you had nothing to do with Sam’s disappearance, you’ll unhand him, ” Jon ordered. “Now.”

“You bastard.”

Brienne saw him about to squeeze the trigger so she shot at Daario and Robb’s feet. Dust flew up the room as everyone jumped except her. Daario and Robb jumped together but the other man kept his grip on his hostage. They shot her deadly looks. Jon managed to keep a steady grip on the gun to Daario’s head, flinching only when gunfire exploded. Catelyn winced while the other agents took one step back and gave Brienne a warning look. Her cheeks flared red. So it wasn’t the best move to fire a weapon in an enclosed room. The way she read the situation, if she hadn’t opted for shock, Daario would succeed. 

“Fuck, Brienne, you want me to die?” Robb complained.

Brienne ignored him. Her blue eyes were clear and sharp as icicles. “ _Now,_ Daario.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Let us be the judge of that.”

“You’ve already judged me, you idiot.”

“I might be the _only_ one in this room who will think twice before shooting you in the head. Name-calling makes my trust in you waver. Is that what you’d like? 

Daario hissed and crushed Robb’s throat under his arm. Robb gasped. 

“One more little squeeze and you can all watch him die,” he promised as Robb sputtered.

Catelyn this time looked at Robb in the eye then Daario.

“If you harm my son I will tear you limb from limb,” she said in a low voice.

“There’ the Mommy Wolf,” Daario mocked.

“The gun, Daario. Slide it to me and nobody will hurt you.” Brienne told him. “You have my word.”

Daario’s eyes met hers.

“Do you swear it?”

“Holy fuck, Naharis,” Jon sounded exasperated. He grimaced and shoved the tip of his gun back at Daario’s skull. “You’re not going to make her swear a holy oath, are you?”

“No harm will come to you,” Brienne said, ignoring Jon. “And I swear to help you prove your innocence.”

“But do you trust me, Brienne? Do you _swear_ to trust me?”

Brienne swallowed. “I trust you,” she said harshly.

Daario nodded and pressed the gun to the skin of Robb’s cheek, distorting it. 

Brienne grunted and cocked her gun. “Don’t make me renege on it so soon.”

“Do as she says, you fuck,” Jon said.

“Your words are shit,” Daario told him.

Suddenly, he shoved Robb toward Brienne, whose arms automatically opened to receive him. The force of his body slamming toward her sent them crashing hard against the wall, followed by the very audible crack of Brienne’s skull. Daario pushed the gun away from him as he got to his knees, arms raised in surrender.  
Catelyn ordered Agents Grey ad Tollett to cuff him and bring him to the Black Cells. As this happened, Jon kept his gun on him, not trusting that Sellsword was actually surrendering. Only when the cuffs were clicked on and he was hauled to his feet did he lower his weapon. 

“Get him out of here,” Jon told him, looking at Daario in disgust.

“There’s the look,” Daario said sarcastically as he was roughly yanked towards the door. “So quick to jump to conclusions when you and I don’t even know what it is I’m being arrested for.”

“Conspiracy and kidnapping for starters,” Catelyn told him. 

“I have never nor will I ever work against Westeros,” Daario snapped at her. “You think I am when I’ve been working for you for three years?”

“Howland’s orders.”

“And here I thought we’re bonded. Why, I thought you’re the mother I never had, Catelyn,” Daario said bitterly. Just before he was pushed out of the room by the agents, his blue eyes caught Brienne’s stare.

“Remember your vow, Agent Tarth. Or I’ll fuck you in places even Renly didn’t find.” As Brienne’s eyes widened in shock then watered in pain, Daario smirked. “Oh, was that a big secret? Silly me. Loose lips does sink ships, you know—“

“What the fuck’s taking so long getting him out of here?” Jon exploded. “Gag the son of a bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by that church scene at Face/Off. But that's still way cooler. And you can't have doves flying around in an enclosed space. Ravens, maybe? 
> 
> I took some of Jaime's lines from the books for Daario, and Catelyn's for Jon though I added some things there.


	19. Skeleton Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every man shall reap what he has sown, from the highest lord to the lowest gutter rat. And some will lose more than the tips off their fingers, I promise you.” 
> 
> An audience favorite returns. :-)

They were more than a man down now. Catelyn looked at what remained of the Golden Company, for the first time unsure with what to do next. She knew there was intel to gather from the WCA, accessing the system through the inside with the codes provided by Oberyn Martell. She knew that whatever Jaqen H’ghar unearthed would be more than invaluable. She also knew that Jaime Lannister had to be returned, now that he had been supposedly kidnapped. 

And that Brienne’s name had to be cleared. It was only a matter of time before someone identified her. With Samwell Tarly’s whereabouts still unknown, there was very little to do.

What she knew for sure was that in a matter of hours, their offices would be crawling with WCA agents. They would sweep the place for bugs and other suspicious devices. They would be going through the system to check on the whereabouts of other agents. Catelyn stared at Robb and Brienne. Each of them would be subjected to a polygraph, compromising precious time that should be spent ridding the world of Wildfyre and the bastards that wanted it. 

She steeled herself. First things first.

“Both of you will have to lie low for the next twenty-four hours,” she told Rob and Brienne. “Howland Reed himself might come here or he might send his second-in-command, Oberyn Martell. You can not risk to be seen here.” 

Robb and Brienne had not worn any disguises at all. From the moment Oberyn would sight them, trouble was a very grave understatement of what they would be in for. Sam’s absence meant their tech support was significantly crippled, although there were other staff to oversee that—Sam headed that department, after all. But at least with Sam, if you asked him to make something disappear, he did. If you wanted something to appear, he did as well. It wasn’t a task that could be entrusted to anyone but him at all, although Jon volunteered to give the old college try. He had to remind them that he started in tech before requesting for transfer to field agent and acing all the tests and training. 

“You can’t stay here,” Catelyn told Brienne and Robb. For the first time, Brienne noticed that she looked a little pale. The ice was slowly melting, she thought. “Jon will write up a report indicating you’re both deep cover starting last night. You left at midnight.” At her instructions, Jon nodded. She wrote something in her notebook and passed the paper to Robb.

He frowned. “What’s this?”

“It’s a code for where you’ll meet me and when.” 

Brienne started going through patterns and ciphers in her head as she glanced at it over Robb’s shoulder. She committed it to memory before he slipped it in his pocket.

“Go and take care of the reports,” Catelyn told Robb. “Make sure that any footage showing them from midnight onwards, anything, disappears.”

“What of Agents Tollett and Grey?”

“They’re being recruited in our division. As soon as I can speak with them, I believe I can persuade them.”

Robb smirked at Brienne. “You’re not exactly hard to miss.”

“Shut up.”

“Go. Now. Figure out the code and we’ll meet as indicated there.” Catelyn ordered them.

They obeyed her. She nodded at Jon, indicating that he too may leave. 

Sam’s office was far off in the office, practically a back room except that the latest technical equipment required for their division was there. Sam’s workstation was a wide slab of light-colored wood but crowned with three large, flat-screen computers controlled by one keyboard. Wires ran from one end of the room from another. The flickering lights from the other monitors and systems at work twenty-four hours a day made the room nearly as bright as if the overhead light was switched on.   
Sam led a staff of four people, all of them support, he still the brains of the operation. None of them gave Jon a second look as he approached the row of desks. All wore headphones, tracking signals and other developments in the missions and cases the Golden Company was currently involved in. With luck, they had no idea of Sam’s disappearance nor Daario’s arrest or Brienne’s Annie Get Your Gun moment. They were all hunched over keyboards, identical from their positions down to their short-sleeved white shirts and black ties and black pants.

He breezed through them and proceeded to Sam’s desk. There was another computer there. Here, Sam kept the reports and tracked the whereabouts of agents on the field. Jon pulled out the chair and sat down. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he hacked into the system—it wasn’t too hard to figure out Sam’s code, after all. He called up the needed files and put the necessary data there. Next came the tricky part. 

He punched in another set of codes, showing him which one of the four workstations was monitoring the logs he would be manipulating.   
He couldn’t call Catelyn on the cell, nor could he use the landline right now with the security breach thanks to that fucking Daario, he thought. A text message could be intercepted, tracked, hacked into but through it, he thought, he could send out a code to Catelyn for what he wanted done. He hoped she’d see it right away.   
It took him a few seconds to write a code.

_We are well rid of him, then. I will not suffer such abominations here. This is not King’s Landing. ___

__He pressed SEND._ _

__In less than ten seconds, Catelyn sent him the answer he needed._ _

___Pray harder._ _ _

__Jon watched through the window, still sitting behind the desk, as one of the staff picked up the ringing phone. There was no mistaking the sudden jerk of surprise at discovering who was on the other line. Karstark, first name Jon couldn’t remember now but that was his name, that he remembered. Karstark practically squealed to his colleagues that Director Stark herself had not only called his line but also wanted to see him in the office right away. He pranced as he walked away, no doubt thinking he was going to be promoted today._ _

__Jon quickly worked his magic, keeping one eye on the task and another at the three remaining members of the tech staff. Now that the logs were unwatched, he quickly changed settings and times, shifted things around. He had just finished when Karstark returned, chest puffed up but he did not have the swagger of a man going places. Catelyn must have fed him some line how Sam was unavailable and Jon was in charge but she expected Karstark to help him out, being that he was part of the department and Jon wasn’t. Karstark waved at Jon._ _

__He inclined his head in acknowledgement._ _

__For the next two hours, Jon familiarized himself with the workings of Sam’s computer and the system. He read up on Wildfyre and as he did so, tracked any news or mention of it in the media outlets, as well as the name Jaime Lannister._ _

__Multi-tasking suited Jon. He spent many years being shuffled in and out of foster homes until he got too old and moved to a group home. Group homes were far from idyllic and the kids tend to be the worst of the lot. You always had to keep one eye open at all times because you never knew when someone might pull a knife on your just because you had the more comfortable pillow. He learned to balance going about his business but keeping an alert, though wary eye out.  
Unlike Robb, Brienne and Sam who all went to the top schools in Westeros, Jon put himself through night school in a community college. He worked as a janitor in a private high school by day and after classes, started his graveyard shift as a security guard at a hospital. He was used to having very little sleep and rest—a thing a lot of agents-to-be grumbled about during training because they were pampered little shits with buffed nails and took a pumice to their feet._ _

__Jon studied Computer Science because there will always be people who would never understand computers. His reasons were more for practical purposes and not because he was a computer geek of any sort. He never had his own computer until he got his first job being one of the anonymous I.T. staff of the WCA—he applied, he wasn’t recruited. He did the homework using the computer services available at the university. This taught him efficiency. Time was limited so he had to make the most of it. This meant no surfing for funny cat videos. He had to use the computer as much and as well as he could while it was his._ _

__He looked in the drawers below the desk next. He recognized the portable drive Sam had with him last night. A quick check showed it contained the access codes of the WCA. How they were going to use them, he still had no idea. From what he’d heard, Oberyn Martell was known for spinning the most labyrinthine security protocols and firewalls. Without the access code, they wouldn’t be able to look round. It was Catelyn’s prerogative to decide what to do with it._ _

__Sam had a small coffee machine on one of the cabinets. Jon was pouring water into it when his phone beeped. A message from Catelyn._ _

___“Every man shall reap what he has sown, from the highest lord to the lowest gutter rat. And some will lose more than the tips off their fingers, I promise you.”_ _ _

__There was no mistaking about it. Them remaining four would be meeting soon. Jon tapped out his reply._ _

___Then we will make new lords._ _ _

__Suddenly, the landline phone rang. He answered it._ _

__“You’re up with Martell,” Catelyn told him._ _

__“What about you?”_ _

__“I’m done. You should hurry.”_ _

__Jon put the phone down and rose. He nodded at Karstark and his friends as he walked past them. Oberyn Martell would be at the interrogation room they had kept Jaime Lannister previously. Jon knocked on the door, heard a voice bid him to come in._ _

__“Agent Snow,” Oberyn Martell greeted him from behind a table, the polygraph machine next to him. His heavy, dark hair and even darker eyes and olive skin hinted at his exotic heritage. He was lean, not very tall, but very good-looking—the sort of man who made mere mortals stand up straight but in the end pat their softened stomachs as they make a mental resolve to hit the gym soon. Jon took note of the heavy bags under Oberyn’s eyes and wondered how it was that he was awake. Did Brienne not give him enough dosage? Was he roused awake at the club?_ _

__“Have a seat please,” Oberyn requested him, gesturing towards the chair that leaned close to the edge of the table. Jon glanced at the polygraph machine before he started taking off his jacket. He rolled up his sleeves and sat down._ _

__“You’ll be asked a series of questions,” Oberyn told Jon. “Answer truthfully.”_ _

__“Of course,” Jon said as Oberyn started attaching wires on his body then connected them to the machine._ _

__Done, Oberyn sat before the polygraph. “Is your name Jon Snow?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Are you within the confines of the WCA?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Are you in the Golden Company?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Are you called Jon Snow?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Do you live in Westeros?”_ _

__Jon rolled his eyes. “No.”_ _

__“Did you just lie?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Do you know who I am?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__Oberyn Martell started. Jon chuckled. “Catelyn told me.”_ _

__“Have you lied more than once since this session started?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Do you know Daario Naharis?”_ _

__Jon paused then said, “Yes.”_ _

__“Is he your friend?”_ _

__“Hells, no.”_ _

__“Is Samwell Tarly your friend?”_ _

__Jon’s voice was small. Samwell Tarly did not know how to fight back, in any way. “Yes.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Jaime Lannister, I think Stannis Baratheon is the funniest man in Westeros. His droll, dry humor gets me everytime. So I lifted some book quotes from the Mannis himself and used them as the code The Golden Company use to communicate.
> 
> Starts with some Catelyn POV then Jon.


	20. In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cersei Lannister is Jaime’s kryptonite. I’m sure of it. She’s mentioned enough in the files. She has no dalliances nor anything that hints at possible romance but she’s very close to her twin. Then there are also the notes from a certain Qyburn from a family clinic excusing her from a test.”  
> “So she got sick. So what?”  
> “A family clinic, Brienne. Stomach cramps, if I’m not mistaken.”  
> “Maybe this Qyburn fellow is a friend.”  
> “Interesting he wrote that letter for her for two incidences of stomach cramps as a doctor at a family clinic. Hells, Brienne, must I spell out to you what’s going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish chapter ahead.

Ros, the front desk clerk, snuck another curious look at the beaming couple before her as she registered them to their room. They were the oddest looking set of people she had ever seen and working in a hotel, she had seen more than her fair share of weirdoes. She remembered a prim-looking auburn-haired girl in a crisp shirt and slacks who checked in with a guy twice her height with a grotesque scar on one side of his face. Ros’ hands had trembled at the sight of him and had actually thought the woman had been kidnapped but no. Rather, his companion kept her arm around his elbow and kissed his scarred face. Another time, the rock star Khal Drogo himself had stood mere inches from her and had looked at her as if he wanted to eat her—this, despite the slinky bimbos hanging off his shoulders, who were fucking him with their eyes.

The Selmys, the couple who was grinning at each other like lovestruck teenagers, were Barristan and Ashara. Barristan Selmy was probably the manliest name Ros had ever heard and he looked every inch of it in his fitted dark sweater that was an exact shade of his hair. It was thick and soft, and beckoned her hands. He had charmed her with his request of an early check-in, smiling at her and talking to her in a low voice as if they were the only people in the room. As soon as she said yes, of course, his wife had approached them. She was the most. . .peculiar-looking woman Ros had ever seen. 

She snuck him a small, seductive smile but quickly frowned. Barristan Selmy was nuzzling his ugly wife’s neck. Why? How is that even possible?  
Ros narrowed her eyes at Ashara Selmy. She was much taller than her husband, with pale blond hair that looked thin and dry. Her eyes were big pools of sapphire-blue but the rest of her did not live up to their promised beauty. How was this creature his wife? She thought, glaring discreetly at the woman’s too-red face as Barristan pressed kisses along her throat, the highest he could reach. Her skin was pale and made splotchy with freckles. She wore a navy blue tank top, narrow jeans and flat sandals. A bandanna with swirls of different blue shades was wrapped around her head.

She probably has a legendary cunt or something, Ros thought, waiting for their room key cards to pop out of the printer. She narrowed her eyes in disapproval as Barristan, his dark blue eyes shining as he smiled wickedly up at his wife before he drew her hand to his lips and started kissing her fingers. Gods, how was it possible to turn any redder? Only Ashara Selmy,

Ros was still frowning, fretting how Barristan Selmy ignored her while she was the prettiest in the staff with her red hair, not to mention an impressive, natural pair of full breasts. She would get more upset when the bellhop reported later that during the elevator ride up to their room, Barristan had pinched his wife in the ass, who retaliated with a very loud, audible smack on his shoulder. Or that as soon as he shut the door of the honeymoon suite, there was an audible, high screech followed by a throaty moan. 

Brienne had her eyes open, staring at the door, as she and Robb continued to kiss after the bellhop left. His arms around her broad waist, he whispered against her lips, “Think he bought it?”

“He should,” she said.

They pulled away from each other then. Robb’s lips felt tender while Brienne’s looked very slick and red. Each thought that if it were anyone else, they’d be smug and satisfied—Robb knew he would be, and once again he thought of Talisa Maegyr. He had imagined her while kissing Brienne. Brienne was a friend and despite what she lacked in looks, her full, generous mouth was fun to kiss but nothing more. Brienne, meanwhile, had struggled to push away snapshots from her nightmare. Though it was Robb Stark kissing her, once her eyes were closed, she saw Jaime Lannister. She was insane, she thought, cursing the blush that bloomed on her cheeks. He fucked his sister, he might as well have brought the apocalypse, not to mention how vulgar he had been with her but fuck if she could deny how her knees knocked together when his cool, green gaze focused on her, or how her breasts became achy and heavy, needing to be soothed by a sensual caress.

Brienne was tired but she was still too buzzed from her nightmare, Sam’s kidnapping and Daario’s arrest. She reached into one of their suitcases and pulled out her laptop.

As it booted up, she pulled out another laptop. She needed two—one for monitoring the hallway for surprises and another for some quick detective work and keeping an eye out for further news about Jaime Lannister’s `kidnapping.’ She monitored the news while she searched for the video news outlets were streaming. With the other laptop, she hacked through the hotel’s security system. Soon, the screen was split to show the underground parking lot, a city view, the lobby and their hallway. Their disguise was makeshift at best—there wasn’t time to come up with a full-on disguise.   
She was slumped on her forearms between the two computers when Robb woke up a few hours later. Rubbing his eyes, he padded toward her and saw she had kept a surveillance of the hotel and was in the middle of doing an analysis of the video feed shown in public. Probably wanting to see if her reflection got caught on any surface, he deduced, noting she had spliced sections of it and zoomed in. They could find out how the news networks were given the video but that would mean hacking through deliveries, camera feeds, if it dropped anonymously—way beyond either of their abilities. Jon could probably do it but this was Sam’s area. 

Robb debated whether to wake up Brienne or let her stay asleep in a position that just by looking made his neck stiff and aching. He sighed and shook her on the shoulder, quite roughly, because she was snoring.

When she picked her head up and looked at him with bleary, unfocused eyes, he took advantage and slipped his arm under her armpit and hauled her up. He half-dragged, half-pulled her to the bed. Once she was in it, he gently rolled her, yanking a section of the comforter from under her leg and pulling it over her shoulders. She watched him, her eyes clear but he knew she wasn’t really seeing him. It was the way they were looking at him.

His heart slammed into a stop when she spoke raggedly.

_“Jaime.”_

He paused tucking the comforter around her. “What of Jaime?”

“You did this.”

He sat by her feet carefully. Brienne was dreaming, he realized. “What did I do?”

Brienne’s eyes closed. Then she started snoring.

Seven Hells, Robb thought in frustration. What the hell happened in that interrogation room? This was the second time she had dreamed of the guy in less than twenty-four hours.

He glanced at his cellphone on the bedside table. Catelyn gave firm instructions that they lay low and to have no contact until the designated time and place nineteen hours from now. But his mother knew what had happened there, he thought. He did not like this one bit, how that Lannister bastard haunted Brienne’s dreams and had her muttering nonsense, not to mention the horror in her eyes. She had wanted to shoot him, he remembered. She was going to shoot him and if he didn’t have the presence of mind to disarm her before sleeping who knew if he was still alive or hovering between life and death on an operating table.

Robb kissed Brienne on the forehead as he got up. He strode to the workstation she had set up and sat before the computers. Nothing suspicious going on at the hotel, it appeared. He looked at the video feed of her stairwell fight with Jaime Lannister before he reached into his bag for his own laptop. They didn’t have the means to access more information but there were ways, he thought, turning on the device. It was for his personal use, not the one issued by the Golden Company. He shook his head, thinking how it had been years since he had used Woogle but there was nothing else to do. He was going to have to get used to getting information like the rest of them. Jaime Lannister, he typed.

There was over a hundred thousand websites that mentioned him. Today’s top results talked about his `kidnapping.’ Robb glanced at his watch. It would be six hours since they had seen the news report. The rest of Westeros was just waking up—which explained the absence of a statement from Targaryen Industries or the Lannisters. He read several news websites first. They said the same thing. Jaime Lannister was forcibly taken during an evacuation. “A fire drill,” the reports said though Robb knew the truth. They all ended with a call to the public to come forward with whatever information they knew regarding his kidnapping by `a tall, extremely strong man.’ As long as the public still thought of Brienne as a man, they didn’t have anything to worry about.

Next, he paid attention to academic online journals. Jaime Lannister had been named an assistant in several of Arthur Deyne’s published research. Come grad school, Jaime Lannister started publishing his own articles. There were a lot of them—clearly he was a driven, brilliant scientist. There was some news about a public falling out with his father Tywin, followed by his controversial decision to join Targaryen Industries. This was around the time Jaime Lannister stopped getting published. Top-secret work prevented him from making his research projects public, Robb surmised.  
He spent the next couple of hours singling out certain information about Jaime Lannister and others connected to him, then printing them out. The printer was quiet, emitting only the gentlest hum as it spat out paper after paper. Through it all, Brienne remained tucked under the comforter, still snoring softly. Every now and then she would lick her lips loudly and turn. He kept an eye on her in spite of her peaceful state. He was not going to forget the terror in her eyes anytime soon.

It was almost ten in the morning when Robb’s stomach growled and he called room service. He ordered poached eggs and asparagus, bacon and toast, blueberry muffins as well as coffee and freshly-squeezed orange juice. He didn’t put up the print-outs on the wall yet since there was hotel staff coming. 

He knew the food had arrived from the surveillance Brienne had displayed on the computer. Robb quickly mussed his hair and took off his t-shirt. He slapped his cheeks, checked that they looked like they were flushed from fucking his wife, then quickly left a note on the pillow for Brienne. She might wake up and call him another name. 

Join me for breakfast, love, he wrote. Then he closed the double doors behind him as he went out. 

Robb stood by the door and waited for the soft, discreet knock. He unbuttoned his jeans but kept them on. He had to look like he had hastily pulled on his clothes, after all. He waited seven seconds before he threw open the door.

“Hey there. Oh, food. Great, really great,” Robb said, nodding at the waiter. He was a young man, college-aged. Podrick Payne was on the nameplate he wore pinned on the black vest atop his white shirt. 

“Good morning, Mr. Selmy,” Podrick said, his hands grasping the bar of the trolley. “Uh, where shall I put this?” 

“Dining table,” Robb pushed the door open wider and swept his arm open in a grand gesture. 

Podrick set up the food-laden plates and the utensils, as well as the pitcher of freshly-squeezed orange juice and a pot of coffee, along with fresh cream and a choice between sweeteners, white and brown sugar. He did these all very carefully but he still ended up almost dropping the plates and sent some of the silverware skidding across the table. He mumbled an apology and Robb told him it was alright. A basket of freshly-baked muffins followed—this, Podrick didn’t drop too fast or too hard. The final touch was a vase of fresh, colourful flowers. 

“Thank you, Podrick,” Robb said. He was reaching in his pocket for a tip when the double doors swept open. 

Brienne’s hair was messier than his and her face was red, her lips still swollen from their kiss earlier. She wore one of the robes. Her face got redder when she noticed Robb wasn’t alone.

“Ashara, thank the Seven. Your husband loves you but I almost woke you up because he’s starving,” Robb teased her, handing Podrick a twenty-dragon note. Because they were still not alone, he went to Brienne and kissed her on the neck, wrapping an arm around her stomach as he did.  
“Thank you, Mr. Selmy. Mrs. Selmy,” Podrick bowed at them awkwardly. “I wish you a good morning.”

“Thank you,” Brienne said softly as Robb nuzzled her neck.

As soon as the door closed behind Podrick, Brienne turned away and Robb dropped his arm. She glanced at the dining table and smiled at him.  
“I smelled bacon,” she confessed.

He laughed. “Let’s eat. Did the noise wake you? The kid’s quite heavy-handed with the china.” 

“That, but more of the bacon,” Brienne said as she sat down. She closed her eyes appreciatively at the aroma of the food before her. “Hmm. You did good on this, Robb Stark.”

“We can’t exactly go down for the buffet,” Robb said, sitting down across from her. He passed her the basket of muffins and she took one before he helped himself. Brienne poured them juice and coffee. 

It was a very domestic scene straight out of a movie. Robb couldn’t recall ever seeing his mother wearing her robe in the kitchen and pouring coffee for her husband. Brienne was a good friend and she thought nothing of what she was doing but he was oddly touched by her gesture. He wondered if he would ever have a chance to experience this for real—breakfast with the one you loved, and she sitting right across, not so far that he would have to strain his arm in order to reach for her hand. 

“You’ve been working,” Brienne told him, taking a strip of bacon from her plate and biting off the tip. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed sleep. Besides you were working before I did,” he pointed out. 

“You have been working quite a while from the looks of it,” she told him. “Did you find anything?”

He told her that he had looked up pertinent information regarding Jaime Lannister first before he branched out. Of Tywin Lannister, there was little to find. They needed sources and support from the Golden Company to do that. 

“There’s something else. We didn’t find this on the files Howland Reed gave us,” Robb told her, dipping an asparagus stick into the poached eggs. “Jaime has a brother.”

“You mean a sister.” 

Robb shook his head. “A brother. Younger than him. Tyrion’s the name. It was mentioned in one or two websites—far from the top results. Now why would you think there’s hardly any mention of him?”

“There’s not much you can find about Tywin on Woogle.”

“But you do know something about him. Like he’s the richest man in Westeros. He built the company from the ground up. We know about the public appearances. We have photos. But how is there’s nothing on Tyrion Lannister? And why has Jaime not mentioned him?”

“We didn’t ask. Well, we didn’t know.”

“And then with his sister. My mother shot this down but I’m convinced there’s something more than sibling love between them.”

Robb raised an eyebrow at Brienne inquiringly. She frowned.

“What are you asking, Robb?” 

“Cersei Lannister is Jaime’s kryptonite. I’m sure of it. She’s mentioned enough in the files. She has no dalliances nor anything that hints at possible romance but she’s very close to her twin. Then there are also the notes from a certain Qyburn from a family clinic excusing her from a test.”

“So she got sick. So what?” Brienne had her head bent towards the toast she was buttering. 

“A family clinic, Brienne. Stomach cramps, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Maybe this Qyburn fellow is a friend.”

“Interesting he wrote that letter for her for two incidences of stomach cramps as a doctor at a family clinic. Hells, Brienne, must I spell out to you what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you want me to think,” Brienne insisted stubbornly.

“You tell me you didn’t ask? What on earth happened during interrogation that got Jaime to cooperate?”

“Renly,” Brienne answered quickly. “Because Renly told him to trust me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your fucking problem.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. But for reasons I can’t explain, you’re denying it. Not unless you’ve begun to drool over Jaime Lannister. You dreamed about him again.”

“The Seven fuck you, Robb. That was a nightmare.”

“The last one wasn’t.”

“How the fuck will I know? Whoever’s awake while dreaming?”

“I was. You thought I was Jaime.”

“Because I was probably dreaming. You’d have nightmares too if you know what I know about that man.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t. You and my mother have been strangely unforthcoming.”

“If Catelyn doesn’t wish you to know I will not go against it.”

But Robb was relentless. “Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Exceedingly close. Each with no other attachments save for each other. Cersei with her stomach cramps at a fucking family clinic. There, Brienne. Get in through you head. They’re fucking each other. It’s so fucking out there, the outrageousness of it has blinded everyone else.”

It was the pause preceding Brienne’s denial that betrayed her. “N-No.”

Robb twisted the knife further. “Jaime Lannister fucked his sister and she got pregnant. And she got rid of them.”

Brienne shot to her feet so quickly, so sharply, Robb thought she was going to topple the heavy dining table toward him. Instead, her eyes turned a very vivid, dark blue as she glared at him.

“You don’t know anything.”

“ _You_ don’t know anything.” 

Brienne huffed.

“And you’re not denying it.”

“They have a son!”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Brienne gasped and turned away. Her shoulders were stiff in spite of the thick covering of the towelled robe. 

“Which the public doesn’t know,” Robb said softly. “That’s how Howland bought his loyalty and how you got him to sing.” He slammed his fist on the table, jerking the glass down and spilling orange juice all over the immaculate white cloth. 

“Jaime Lannister has no loyalty,” he hissed. “This is a man who fucked his sister and turned away from her, their family, to work with the harbinger of death. He’s just counting the days when he’ll leave you hanging, Brienne. From a noose.”


	21. Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn remained frozen by the passenger side of the car as light suddenly flashed and flooded the warehouse. Her blue eyes widened as she saw the figures breaking out of the darkness and began approaching them.

While Jon was having his polygraph, Catelyn snuck out of the offices of The Golden Company. She took the elevator that would bring her to the lobby of King Corporation & Assets. Her steps were brisk and urgent as she walked out and hailed a cab. She kept her back to the cameras the entire time but she knew there was only little time before she was discovered. Sliding behind the backseat, she told the driver where to go.  
Halfway there, she suddenly told the driver to let her out. His confusion is evident and she silences him with a generous tip. Catelyn got herself out and waited in front of McFrey’s. Only hours ago, Sam had been here, she thought, her eyes darting from corner of the street to the other. She made a mental note to instruct Jon to access the cameras in the place, if there were any, as a non-descript black card pulled up in front of her. She glanced left and right again before opening the door.

Jaqen H’ghar gunned engine as soon as she was in, ignoring that she had yet to put on a seatbelt. They lurched forward and picked up speed right away. He knew only one way of driving: fast and faster. Catelyn rolled her eyes at him and said, “I’m thankful.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cat,” he said as he drove. “I still have to get you there.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if things aren’t shit at the Golden Company right now,” she told him.

“Pretty careless of you to let that video out,” he said, enjoying the flinch that spread across her lovely face. It was an older face, lined and paler than before but he thought she was more captivating than ever. It was almost a pity that Catelyn Tully, nay, Catelyn Stark, was known more for being the Executioner rather than her beauty. 

“You’re no longer my handler, Jaqen.”

“If I were still handling you, it would not have happened.”

“Well, you’re not. I’m handling the situation.” Catelyn refused to let it be known she was raw and had yet to find answers about the leaked video. Between her polygraph with Oberyn Martell and that creative trick she had Jon employ with the system and coughing up the quickest disguises for her son and Brienne, she couldn’t make the time to track down how that video became public. All she had done was listen to a transcription of the mission. Sam had been in charge of attacking all surveillance within Targaryen Industries. Could he have missed something? Or was someone else watching?

“This is not handling the situation.”

“Shut up, Jaqen. Your watch has ended. Who did you have to bribe to get to the Black Cells?”

Jaqen looked offended. “Unlike you, my ex-protégé, I don’t need to line pockets with cash to get what I want.” At Catelyn’s dubious look, he cleared his throat. “Favors, what else? More than you can imagine. You owe me big, Catelyn.”

“Don’t I always pay my debts?”

“I worry about the day you’ll find out they won’t be enough.”

Catelyn looked out the window. In the horizon, she saw a streak of lightning split the sky.

“If you taught me well, I wouldn’t,” she said. 

Jaqen wove the car through King’s Landing, taking small side streets that brought them to the Red Keep then all the way to Flea Bottom. He was driving a circuitous path, throwing off whoever might be following them. Catelyn looked at her watch. It was only a matter of time before her absence was detected. At least Jon didn’t know. If he was questioned, he would speak the truth about knowing nothing of her whereabouts. She also hoped that he had a good answer when Robb and Brienne’s absence was questioned. 

From a distance, Catelyn saw the imposing, mottled gray structure of the maximum security prison. Blackfyre was its name but was more known for its nickname of the Black Cells, due to many of its inmates being in solitary confinement. It housed the worst of the worst of Westeros. Half of the residents there were due to the efforts of the Golden Company. 

She could count on a very cold reception, indeed.

“What are you doing?” She demanded when Jaqen suddenly turned away from the building. 

“You told me you needed a way in without alerting anyone,” Jaqen answered, ignoring her outrage. “This is the way.”

Catelyn looked at him with doubt and confusion. He patted her knee. “Relax. No harm will come to you.”

“Keep your hand on the wheel if you don’t want to lose it.”

He chuckled and floored it. She jerked forward in spite of the seatbelt. “Fuck!”

“A bit hard to believe there was a time when you liked my hands on you, Cat.”

“I’m a happily married woman with children, Jaqen. Stop this ridiculousness.” She tried to turn back to look at Blackfyre but it continued to grow smaller and smaller. Jaqen laughed as he continued to drive in spite of the snarl Catelyn unleashed when she looked back at him. 

“The Seven help you if this is a kidnapping—“ she started to say but he snorted, waving her protest away.

“Relax, Cat. Hells, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen but this one—“ he jerked a thumb toward himself—“this ship has long sailed. Ned Stark must be one hell of a human being to let his wife continue being a spook when he’s one of the President Tyrell’s senior advisers. I’ve been no one for so long that now I’m out, I want to be someone and first.”

“Ned is a cut above,” Catelyn agreed but refused to be sidelined. “What the hell are you up to?”

“You trust me?”

“Is it my perfume or something? What is it with men asking me for the last twenty-four hours if I fucking trust them? If you have to ask then by the fuck, I shouldn’t but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nothing wrong with your perfume.” Jaqen sniffed appreciatively. “Ah. You still wear Eau de Printemps? That’s how a woman should smell.”  
Catelyn kept her mouth shut. Jaqen cleared his throat. Things were different between them now but of the few things that hadn’t, it was Catelyn’s silent treatment. It was as cold and as impenetrable as The Wall. 

Jaqen drove for a couple of more miles before he turned toward a deserted warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Catelyn still wouldn’t speak to him and continued to stare straight ahead. 

“I swore to you that you could always come to me for anything, Cat,” Jaqen said before he braked the car. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”  
Catelyn’s face remained stony. She still wouldn’t speak to him.

Jaqen sighed and got out of the car. He began pulling up the steel door that barred the contents of the warehouse from anyone passing by, which was unlikely. Done, he returned to the car, flicked on the headlights and drove in.

When he braked this time, he also killed the engine. He drew the folding steel door down, plunging the entire place in darkness if not for the headlights. He rapped on Catelyn’s window and motioned that she pull it down. She rolled her eyes at him.

“Look behind you,” he said, pointing.

She shot him a withering look.

“Please.”

She raised her eyebrow at him.

“I think you’ll be quite proud of what I came up with.”

“We’ll see about that,” she snapped and pushed the door open. Jaqen leaped away just in time as she let herself out and whirled to look at the direction he had pointed at. 

“What in Seven Hells. . .” her voice trailed off upon seeing what he was referring. She looked back at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Your original plan needed some tweaking,” he explained. “It’s a good one and you won’t even need my help—you have enough pull to do it. But you don’t want your visit logged in. That there’s nothing you can do—you will be, not to mention that given your tech support is down, whoever you’ve got with you functioning as such at the moment won’t be able to break through the firewall this place has. Not even a brute attack force from all sides would do it.” He nodded behind her. “This is the way.” 

_“I am not springing Jaime Lannister out of maximum security!”_ Catelyn exploded. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She gave in to the anger that rushed red in her veins and crashed her fist on Jaqen’s jaw. He staggered and cursed, wiping at the blood at the corner of his mouth. She advanced toward him and he seized her roughly by the shoulders. 

“No one will know. Besides, him gone is exactly the kind of distraction you need for Howland Reed to quit sniffing around.”

“Howland Reed is going to amp up the security in WCA,” Catelyn told him through gritted teeth. “That would render the codes we got useless—“  
“Which is why while this is going on, you’ll be with the man himself.” Jaqen told her calmly. “I have my own man on the inside as well as my own team.”

“What?”

Jaqen dropped his hands from her and looked over his shoulder. “Gentlemen, if you please.”

Catelyn remained frozen by the passenger side of the car as light suddenly flashed and flooded the warehouse. Her blue eyes widened as she saw the figures breaking out of the darkness and began approaching them.

They were a scary-looking lot. If not for her ability to stay calm in a war zone and that she could break all their necks in less than a minute if forced to, Catelyn would have quaked in her boots and screamed. 

Jaqen’s team were two men who looked like they sharpened their knives using their teeth. One was a tall, rangy-looking thing with wild red hair and a beard to match it. He was accompanied by a man who wasn’t as tall as he was yet, even from a distance, Catelyn knew he was a head above Jaqen. This one had a receding hairline form which oily, black hair hung to his shoulders. He grinned at Catelyn as soon as they were close enough.

“This is she, Jaqen, eh?” He said, looking at Catelyn from head to toe with bold, male appreciation. “She’s a wee thing to be head of a black ops division. But she has a Wilding’s fist.”

“This wee thing, as you call it,” Jaqen said, clearly displeased though he still faced Catelyn, “is a trusted ally and friend. You will respect her.”

“Not to mention that I can immobilize you with just a paperclip,” Catelyn told him.

He looked impressed. “You’re the guys whose bodies are weapons. Lethal weapons.”

“Catelyn, this idiot is Bronn,” Jaqen said, pointing with his thumb at him. “Don’t ask if it’s his first or last name. I don’t know. But I trust him with my life.”

Bronn made a gallant bow. “At your service, milady.”

“This monstrous redhead is Tormund Giantsbane. His loyalty is without question. If make the mistake of doing so, it’s the last thing you’ll do. Gentlemen, this here is Catelyn Stark. I recruited her but she rose to become director of the Golden Company on her own.” Pride warmed his voice.

“This is not what we talked about,” Catelyn said to him disapprovingly.

“I told you. Your plan needed some tweaking.”

“Tweaking is when you snip and add. This is an entirely different plan! And you’re bringing in people I don’t know.”

“Isn’t my word enough? Haven’t I proven it time and time again?”

Catelyn didn’t know what to say to that. But her irritation was still clear. 

“Just think of this as a back-up plan. It’s solid, I promise. Would you care to hear it?”

Catelyn sighed loudly. Bronn winked at her and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”


	22. Wherever I Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to hit me, is that it? Because okay. Hit me. But somebody had to beat you over the head about Jaime, Brienne. Gods, it’s only a day and you. . .you. . .” Robb’s face twisted. “You fancy him, don’t you?”  
> “Fuck me hard in the ass,” Brienne shook her head in disbelief. “You think I’m like this because of a fucking crush?”  
> “You dream of him.”

The air in the room was so thick with tension Brienne was literally struggling to breathe. She stomped to the door, scowling. Just as she was about to open it, Robb asked, all too quietly, “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“We have explicit instructions to stay here until the time we meet them.”

Their workstation was still in the bedroom but Robb had opened the French-style panel doors that separated it from the rest of the suite. He looked at her over the computers set up on the table, his expression both wary and tired.

“We are not getting anything done here,” Brienne said, turning to face him as she spoke. “What have we unearthed so far? That the Lannister twins are fucking each other and there is still no statement from either Targaryen Industries or the Lannisters. Do you mean to tell me you feel you’re accomplishing something holed up in here?”

“I’m not the one whose face is plastered all over Westeros.”

“That’s my fucking back.”

“What has got you upset?” Robb stood up and crossed his arms. “That I pointed out to you facts about Jaime Lannister you shouldn’t shake? Or that fact that I beat you at your own game?”

“I wasn’t playing a game, Robb. I gave my word to the man that it was between us.”

“You did not have the authority.”

“Catelyn Stark didn’t stop me,” Brienne said fiercely.

“Do you want to hit me, is that it? Because okay. Hit me. But somebody had to beat you over the head about Jaime, Brienne. Gods, it’s only a day and you. . .you. . .” Robb’s face twisted. “You fancy him, don’t you?”

“Fuck me hard in the ass,” Brienne shook her head in disbelief. “You think I’m like this because of a fucking crush?”

“You dream of him.”

“Nightmares that involved blood and getting shot. There. Now you know. Happy? I did not need someone, least of all you, to point out the harsh truth about the Lanniste twins because I fucking knew and wasn’t bothered as fuck about it. You are.” Brienne reached for the doorknob when Robb suddenly said, “Hang on. I’m coming with you.”

“I’m already enough of a standout. You stay here,” she ordered him but Robb was already slipping on his jacket. 

“I’m going crazy as fuck in here. I need to actually feel the sun in my face and feel real air, not centralized air conditioining.”  
Robb stood beside her and Brienne, coming to a decision, sighed.

“I’m going to visit my Dad, Robb.”

He frowned. “He’s here?”

“No. I’m going to Tarth.”

“Running off, are we?”

“ _Visiting my Dad._ That’s it. It’s a two-hour ferry ride. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Bit of an odd time, is it?”

“Robb, use your head. If I’m running away do you think I’ll tell you where I’m going?”

“Of course. To throw me off.”

Sapphire met dark blue. 

“I don’t need to throw you off. I could kill you where you stand, stash the body somewhere that it won’t be found for years and disappear. You know it and I know it.” Brienne glowered at Robb. She wasn’t going to use her superior size and strength over him. For agents like Robb Stark, it was conviction and a determination to see it through whatever the cost that shook them. Right now, she looked very much like someone who would commit murder just to get out of the fucking room.

“I’m your friend, Brienne.”

“Renly once told me that when a person says he is someone, he really isn’t.”

“Renly Baratheon is dead. I wouldn’t much weight on the words of a dead man.”

Brienne felt the blow right in her solar plexus but she was stubborn. “You’re next if you don’t cut this crap about being my friend. We’re agents, we’re partners. Nothing more, Robb. Best you stay within the lines.”

“Okay.” Robb said easily. “Therefore, Agent Tarth, I will hold you for defying a direct order from your superior officer.”

“You?” Brienne scoffed.

Robb’s eyes were cool. “Catelyn Stark.”

Brienne pulled open the door and Robb shut it fast. Her face was an angry tomato-red as they sized each other up like fighters in a ring. Twin lines formed between her furrowed brows while his breath was quick, rapid puffs of air that hit her right on the chest. Her scowl deepened further when he planted himself right between her and the door.

“I have a proposal,” he said.

“Start by getting out of the way.”

“We still don’t know who took Sam. The fact that neither Jon nor my mother has gotten in touch means they don’t know or they’ll still being questioned or worse. Leaving the room is ill-advised but if you really must, I’m going with you.”

“If you think I’m going to turn against—“

“Not even the smallest sliver. We stick together, Brienne. You said it yourself. We’re partners.”

“Fuck you and your mind games, Robb!” She protested, making him laugh.

“Listen to me. We should stick together. Much as I know we should stay here and only leave when we must, I also know there’s stopping you once you have an idea on your mind. We look out for each other, Brienne. If you want to go to Tarth for the day, then we’re going to Tarth.”  
“But what about…?” She looked over the computers and he shrugged.

“Nothing we’ve found in the last hour is anything helpful. And we’ll be back by tonight, right?” Still clearly, resistant, Robb pushed on, “Look, it’s either I go with you or I follow you anyway.”

“Alright.”

“You should get dressed. You look like Brienne Tarth. You’re Ashara Selmy.” 

Brienne looked down at her shapeless blue sweater, dark jeans and black sneakers. Then she sighed again and went to their bedroom. Robb hunted in the room for that privacy card that would discourage housekeeping from going to their room. He found it and hooked it around his finger when Brienne slipped out, dressed as Ashara Selmy.

She had foregone the tank top this time for an airy white blouse printed with small, blue winter roses, faded jeans and white sneakers. The finishing touch was a narrow blue headband. It was probably the most feminine outfit Robb had ever seen on Brienne—including two nights ago when she wore a dress in the Red Room. There was no mistaking her discomfort—she was still frowning but that was probably because he insisted on going with her. Robb shot her a smile and got the door. He hung the privacy sign at the handle and led her out with flourish.

“For the record, I don’t want you with me,” Brienne muttered as she took Robb’s arm. They stood in the hallway.

“For the record, we are the Selmys and madly in love.” Robb whispered to her, putting a hand on her cheek quite forcefully. “Waiter at my nine o’clock,” he whispered before pulling her down for a kiss. 

He had to slide his hand under her blouse and run his palm across her warm stomach to startle a reaction from her because her lips remained shut. It got the desired result.

Robb gripped her hand in his and towed her behind to the elevator, in the lobby and out the door. If Brienne thought he was dropping the act once they were in the street, he quickly showed her how wrong she was. He tightened his hand around her as he halted a cab with the other. He directed the driver to the ferry station.

Since summer was approaching, the sea was calm for the entire ride. Brienne and Robb sat on one of the chairs, hardly exchanging a word unless they had to. Brienne would much rather be alone—she didn’t want anyone else knowing of her life outside of work. Seven Hells, she never even thought to bring Renly home to meet her father. Now there was some man who had forced his company on her and was going to meet her dad—not unless she was able to do something about it.

Though they were still an hour from Tarth, Robb already saw the changes in his partner. She was clearly irritated, but gone was the red flush and replaced with a pink bloom that called to mind freshly-budded roses. In the sun, Brienne’s freckles stood out, clear and could be counted by sight alone. Robb found himself wondering about something Daario had spoken as he was hauled away. 

Brienne, her eyes bluer than the waters around them, was staring at the horizon when Robb spoke.

“So you and Renly, huh?”

“I don’t like to speak of the dead.”

“You’re not dead.”

“Robb, you obviously have no idea how I’ve summoning all that is within me to not throw you overboard. Neither of us would like to see it run out. Well, more of you.” 

“There’s nothing illegal about it. Hell, it’s not unusual.”

Brienne’s smile, though crooked, was sweet though there was no denying its sarcasm. “Ah, so people do throw you overboard.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Cut it out, okay? Bad enough you’re coming with me. I don’t want anyone going through my personal life.”  
“Well, that’s a bit of a challenge considering that what’s going on now is due to Renly. This was his mission. He recruited Jaime Lannister. He recruited you. You were—“

“Don’t, Robb.”

It was her impassioned plea that finally shut him up. 

When the ferry docked, they joined the other passengers climbing down. Once on steady ground, Brienne proposed that she meet Robb at Sapphire Café two hours from now. He frowned.

“It’s not good to separate,” he pointed out.

“Who knows what we are here? Even my Dad doesn’t know exactly what I do,” Brienne countered.

“Why don’t you introduce me as your boyfriend? We’ve used that cover thousands of times.”

“And none of them were enjoyable. You have too much tongue.”

Robb, whose cheeks were warm from the sun and wind, flushed. “Well. You. . .you could have said something.”

“It’s not exactly something you mention during debriefing. Robb, please. It’s important I have this time with my Dad alone, alright? I don’t know when I’ll see him again. I. . .I can’t lie to him about that, okay? He’s not a suspect. He’s not a mission. He’s my Dad.”

“Brienne—“

“How would you feel if you want to be with your Dad and I tell you to lie, tell him I’m your girlfriend?”

“I can see him whenever I want. And my Mom—“

“I haven’t seen my Dad in over a year, Robb. Please. Give me this. I. . .I’ve never asked you for anything.”

When she turned those eyes of hers on him, Robb wanted to roar at her because how dare she employ persuasion tactics on him? Those were lethal eyes, he thought as he dared to meet her shining stare. Brienne continued to look at him, her face still tight, in anger, in mistrust.

Robb looked away. He saw the nearly-still waters of Tarth, much like Brienne’s eyes but hers were more vivid. He turned back to her.

“One hour,” he told her.

“What?” Brienne protested.

“We can’t stay here any longer. Fuck, Brienne, we’ve gone against orders. If we’re in another time, we’d get killed. One hour. Sapphire Café. I notice that there’s a boat that leaves every hour.”

When Brienne still looked mutinous, Robb insisted, “It’s that or you take me with you.”

“One hour. Sapphire Café,” she repeated glumly. Then she left.

Brienne took a bus, which dropped her off a block from Evenfall University. Her long strides brought her to the campus in no time. She spent much of her childhood here, when she would walk to her father’s office from school and do homework on his desk or on the floor, when he was working on it and had a student consultation. She did word problems and wrote her compositions listening to her father’s deep, resonant voice in the background.

WCA knew she was from Tarth, there was nothing to do about that. Yet her presence here shouldn’t be detected any more than it should. Relying on experiences from childhood, she deduced that at this time in the day, Selwyn Tarth was in a lecture hall regaling another batch of students with his animated, exuberant delivery.

Sure enough, he was right in the middle of Duncan Hall. Brienne deduced he was giving a plenary lecture judging from how crowded the room was—the aisles were crowded and students were leaning against the walls or hanging off the balcony. A proud smile swept across Brienne’s features as she noted their dazzled reactions to her father’s lecture. Brienne turned her attention to him and her smile widened. He was talking about the legendary Kingsguard, knights sworn to protect and give their lives to the king no matter what. She had grown up listening to tales of the Sword of the Morning, even the much-maligned Kingslayer. Oathbreaker and Kinslayer were other names heaped upon him, which Brienne thought was unfair. Just because he was sworn to protect the Mad King didn’t mean he should stand back when he planned to burn King’s Landing to the ground! She remembered Selywn laughing and telling her that he hoped she never lost her passion, that she would always argue ready to fight to death.

She never told Selwyn that she fought to the death in order to live.

Selwyn was a striking, formidable presence. Taller than Brienne at six-foot-eight, his hair was a thick shock of white, messy and curling at his nape. His eyes were big and blue, much like hers. The tip of his nose was crooked from when he broke it several times as a child. Broad and built thick, Selwyn Tarth’s tailored, beige suits emphasized the power of his body and his immense lung power. He relied only on a clip mike for his voice to carry through but even without it, his voice was clear and solid.

Selwyn finished his lecture to thunderous applause that shook the walls of the hall, Brienne among them. She watched as students both milled out of the room and went to him, asking him about points he raised and about an upcoming paper. She stood leaning against a pillar at the back, watching him answer their questions, some of them inane, but not once did he betray impatience. 

This should be enough, knowing her Dad was well and in his element. Yet Brienne couldn’t tear herself away from where she stood and he saw her, beaming at her from right across the room when he spotted her. Brienne straightened up and waited for him as he told the students his consultation hours. Selwyn packed up his belongings in a briefcase and went to her. 

It was then that she saw all was not well. His steps were shuffling rather than their ground-eating strides. Brienne didn’t notice her hands had tightened into fists until she felt the thick thread of sweat sliding down her shoulder blades. Biting her lip, she waited until Selwyn reached her, knowing fully well that her father had noticed her reaction and would most hate it if she met him halfway.  
That was her plan. Never would Brienne intentionally show him how weak he’d become. But there was no way, simply no way that she could just stand and wait for him to reach her. Not when it had been so long. Not when this was the one man she protected, the only reason why she was still with the WCA. “Dad,” she murmured, and so went to him, throwing her arms around his wide shoulders. 

“My Brienne,” Selwyn murmured above her head as his thick arms went around her slumped form in his chest. Brienne closed her eyes and held him tighter. Maybe she should have brought Robb with her. Had he been with her, she’d have pulled away from her father’s arms. She breathed, and there it was, his familiar tobacco scent, the cinnamon in his coffee. Home. Love. How was she going to do this? How was she letting go? 

“Dad,” she repeated. In one word, she said everything.

“I missed you too, daughter,” Selwyn told her and held her tight to his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold your horses, guys. I know Jaime's been gone for a few chapters. He's coming back. Just wait and see.


	23. Lies So You May Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words were at her mouth, she wanted to tell him what was going on, clue him in on exactly what went on in her life. But to do so would be to break her oath to The Golden Company to never reveal to anyone, friends and family, whom she worked for and what she did.

If Selwyn Tarth was upset that his only child’s visit was short, he didn’t show it. There wasn’t enough time to take her home, being that he had another class in an hour. Instead, father and daughter walked to his office.

It was smaller than Brienne remembered, yet bigger too. Dark wood panelling, cream walls, the floor-to-ceiling shelf on the wall that contained only a sixteenth of the books found in the library back home. Brienne almost folded her legs under her to sit on the carpet and leaf through a book until the reminder of her age and the time ticking fast hit her like a whiplash. She sat on a chair in front of Selwyn’s massive oak desk while he settled on his high-backed, curving chair.

His desk was another home, after the office. Dark oak and topped with leather that was red slowly crossing to brown, it was often filled with papers and books. Today was no different. Selwyn Tarth may be a Professor Emeritus now but he still taught one undergrad class and another at the graduate level. 

She crossed her legs as she leaned forward and took one of the photo frames that stood by the corner of the desk. Before, she shared space with her mother but as she grew up and became more conscious of her lack of looks, she persuaded Selwyn to remove hers. He had clearly gone against her wishes, she thought and winced because looking at the photo he had picked to display caused her physical pain. 

The photo was of her at her most awkward: fourteen years old with limp, long hair, owlish blue eyes that looked bigger behind her inch-long glasses, freckles galore, and her horsey teeth trapped in braces. Laser surgery gave her clear eyesight, but the freckles were as clear and as red as ever, and the money Selwyn had wired to orthodontia did little with her horsey teeth. They were not as crooked but not as straight as they should be. 

But the photo frame Brienne reached for was that of her mother. Selwyn watched as she picked it up and looked at it. It was easy to conclude that there was nothing of Alysanne in her—the straw-blond hair, the big, round, sapphire-blue eyes, thick, powerful frame and impressive height was clearly Tarth. But the freckles splashed with abandon on Brienne was her mother’s, and her shy, gentle nature too.   
Brienne had long stopped ruing how she never got her mother’s long, smooth, golden waves and her long-lashed, dark purple eyes. In the photo, Alysanne was smiling at the camera, her eyes warm. It looked like she was on the verge of laughing. 

“Her birthday was two weeks ago,” Selwyn said as she put it back on the desk. “She would have been fifty-eight.”

Brienne knew. Her eyes met his. “Still young.”

“The dead often are,” Selwyn told her.

Brienne lowered her eyes. _Yes. They are._

“It’s been a long time, my daughter,” Selwyn said. “You look tired. And smaller.”

Brienne had to smile. Only her father would think she was getting smaller. “You know how things are. Work.”

“You look like you haven’t been getting enough sleep,” he continued, frowning. “And what have you been eating? Those miserable, packaged foods with none of the nutrients you need?”

Trust her father to still treat her like a child. “If it helps, I have Dornish takeaway every now and then.”

“Too strong, too spicy.”

“Always delicious.”

Selwyn’s blue eyes twinkled. “Are you dating?”

“Dad!”

“What? It’s a valid question fathers ask their unmarried daughters. Hells, Brienne, you’re thirty-two years old. Your life can’t revolve around work. You have to live.”

“You do the same.”

“I managed to fall in love, get married, and raise you. All when I was only twenty-nine. I’d throw in the books I published too, not to mention overseeing our house gut-renovated. You can still catch up, however.”

Brienne laughed as he smiled at her fondly. “It’s good to see you, daughter.  
”  
“Dad, it’s wonderful to see you,” Brienne said, reaching for his hand. His big hand closed around hers and squeezed. Then they let go. 

“I hope to see you more often.”

“I hope for the same. I promise things will be different soon.”

“Oh? Will you be moving back to Tarth?” 

“Nothing like that. But. ..I’m thinking of taking some time off. I haven’t had a vacation since I started working. You’re right. My life shouldn’t just be about work.”

“Where is my workaholic daughter? There must be man, eh?”

“Must there be a man for me to want to take some time for myself?” Brienne pointed out.

“You’re not one to change your mind so suddenly.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this for sometime.” And it was true. Brienne wanted to take a few days off, no longer than that. She wanted to sleep without having to keep one eye open. She wanted to listen to ocean waves rather than gunfire. She hadn’t even taken time off when Renly died, but that was because his family had no knowledge of her and if she told them who she was, there would be questions. She hadn’t even shed tears. 

But this was a very small part of her reason behind the visit. With no word from either Catelyn or Jon regarding the video leak, she and Robb were powerless to investigate the footage further. There was no way they could trace who might have sent it to the stations without the resources of The Golden Company. 

What else would be made public? What if there was another leak and this time showed her face clearly?

Brienne knew exactly what would happen. A manhunt. The agency would disavow her. And worst of all, Selwyn would be questioned and his reputation forever tarnished by his daughter. The words were at her mouth, she wanted to tell him what was going on, clue him in on exactly what went on in her life. But to do so would be to break her oath to The Golden Company to never reveal to anyone, friends and family, whom she worked for and what she did. She had no need for another broken oath. Before she could stop it, her thoughts went to Jaime Lannister and her shattered vow.

“Dad, I came to see you because, yes, I miss you but. . .I want you to know that things will be different for a while.”

“You said things will be different soon and now it will be a while. What is it exactly?”

“A bit of both.” 

Brienne glanced at Alysanne’s photo. Selwyn followed her gaze.

“She would be so proud of you, you know.”

“Dad, come on. Look at me.  
”  
“Why, what’s wrong with you?”

Brienne cocked an eyebrow at him. Selwyn sighed. It was true that his daughter was no beauty, great, raving or otherwise. But she had a strength in her that rivalled Valyrian steel, and a loyalty that reminded him of a solemn knight. To Selwyn, this was beauty that mattered. The rest of the world were idiots for castigating his daughter for being too tall, too pale, too freckly, too awkward. Too ugly. 

“There is a light upon you, daughter. I wish you’d see it for yourself. It is a beautiful thing.” Selwyn was thoughtful. “I used to say that to your mother. She was light.”

“I think she still is.”

He nodded. “She still is.”

“Dad, when I said things will be different for a while, I was hoping you could prepare yourself,” Brienne said, tearing her eyes away from her mother’s face. “Things will be happening. Things that. . .will surprise you. I’m sorry there isn’t more I can say.”

Selwyn frowned. “Work?”

“Yes.”

“Will I be surprised in a good way or in a bad way?”

“Just remember that you know me.”

Selwyn looked alarmed. “What exactly is going on?”

“Dad—“ she started to say but he interrupted her.

“I don’t see you for a long time and you tell me of things happening. Forgive me for being worried and quite alarmed, if I may say so.”

“Really, you shouldn’t be.” Brienne felt her stomach twist in knots at how easily this lie slipped. “But Dad, you have to do what’s asked of you, okay?” 

“Who’ll be asking?”

“I’m asking you.” 

“Brienne, tell me the truth.” Selwyn stared at her so hard that Brienne worried he could see through her. “You are alright?”  
Brienne tipped her chin up. “Better than you think, Dad,” she said firmly. And for a moment, she managed to still the rapid beating of her heart for this next lie. “You needn’t worry about anything. Just. . .remember who I am. Things will be okay. You believe me, Dad, don’t you? I don’t lie.”

Selwyn looked like he was fighting a private battle. Then, his shoulders sinking, he nodded. His eyes were bright like the ocean of Tarth. _Her eyes._ “I know.”


	24. Package Delivered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We don’t know who we might find there. What if we run into Boros Blount? Or worse, Gregor Clegane?”
> 
> “You really think that a man such as Clegane, whose bedroom walls are upholstered in silk, would deign to step there?”

They heard the sirens blocks away from the hotel. When they turned to the street housing it, Robb and Brienne’s fears were confirmed: fire trucks, emergency vehicles, police and reporters crowded the street. There was no way to sneak in because all entryways and exits were blocked. There was no way to be inconspicuous with eyes and ears everywhere. Robb was still looking grimly at the gray smoke drifting out from one of the hotel floors when Brienne grabbed him by the arm. She was alert as she pulled him behind her, taking note of the CCTV cameras on the establishments they walked past before finding a secondhand bookstore that did not have them. Probably on the inside, she thought. They could always duck their heads.

“It’s still four hours before we meet them,” Robb said as Brienne pushed open the door. A bell tingled to announce them. There was only one person behind the counter, a stout, young man with pinched features. He and what appeared to be a customer were talking passionately about making a graphic novel out of the Kingsguard legends. He nodded at Robb and Brienne, who shot him quick, lipped smiles before ducking behind one of the shelves. 

Brienne continued to pull Robb behind her as she guided him through the dark maze of shelves filled to the brim with musty-smelling books. They wove through a few people, all of them barely glancing at them before returning their attention to the book they were reading. Finally, Brienne found an empty aisle.

“It’s going to be a while before we can go back,” Brienne shook her head. She spoke in a hushed tone. 

“Our equipment.” Robb whispered.

“Disposable.”

“Except for the fire, we don’t know what’s been going on in the last three hours.”

Brienne scowled. “You did not have to come with me.”

Robb glowered at her from her chin. “Like I had a choice.”

Brienne began to pace back and forth. “We can’t go to any of the safehouses and we can’t go to wherever it is we’re meeting Catelyn yet. Can we risk going out there again?”

“There’s the distraction of the fire,” Robb said. “But we can’t make a move without knowing what’s happened so far.”

Brienne wracked her brain. He was right. 

Then she snapped her fingers. “River Row.”

River Row was an old area of King’s Landing. It was where the bulk of the city’s public housing stood. It was a rough neighbourhood, at the very least, as it was populated by junkies, gangs and syndicates. Robb shook his head.

“We don’t know who we might find there. What if we run into Boros Blount? Or worse, Gregor Clegane?”

“You really think that a man such as Clegane, whose bedroom walls are upholstered in silk, would deign to step there?”

“We’re lucky if all we will deal with is a mugging. The place is crawling with criminals as well as undercover cops.”

“And it’s also the last place anyone would be looking for us if that fire is a fake and meant to draw us out. I don’t know about you but your mother keeping us in the dark is not helping.”

“Silk Street,” Robb snapped his fingers.

“ _Really?_ That’s where you think we should go?”

Just as River Row was known for being on the seedy side, Silk Street was still home to cheap hotels and motels, as well as being a hub for prostitution. Brienne’s cheeks were red at the very idea of just considering it as a temporary hideout.

“You can be the hooker and I’m the pathetic yuppie looking for a cheap thrill,” Robb suggested.

“Why should I be the hooker and not you?”

“Silk Street isn’t exactly known for gigolos.”

“Oh, really? I can’t be the bored housewife looking for some action on the side?” 

When Brienne’s eyes flashed, Robb considered. 

So she helped him roll up the sleeves of his button-down to reveal his muscled arms. Robb tucked in his shirt in his pants. Brienne said out loud that a tighter pair of pants would be better—gigolos do show off the goods, after all, though subtly and tastefully. Robb told her that if his pants were any tighter, he’d lose all feeling in his cock and she punched him, too strongly, on the shoulder for that. She wasn't done--she had him cinch his belt tighter by another hole and he swore he saw black for a few seconds before his vision cleared. 

They left the bookstore and strolled down the sidewalk. As they did, Brienne’s lightning-quick hands snatched a purse slung carelessly on a chair in an outdoor café, and swung it over her shoulder in one smooth motion. They didn’t use the credit cards there when they checked in at   
Mockingbird Apartments but the cash, a thick wad of it. As Robb signed them in with another alias, Brienne, true to her role of a bored housewife excited about fucking her lover, clung to him and nuzzled his cheek, his neck, like a needy cat. She punctuated their roleswith throaty murmurs of “darling,” and “baby.”

 

As Robb and Brienne were discussing their next move in the bookstore, Catelyn was walking down the street. She gave the air of a confident, relaxed woman who held the world in the palm of her hand when in fact her eyes were darting to all directions, alert for possible tails. The small handgun secreted at her side was a comfort, as well as the smaller one tucked in her ankle holster. She had to surrender them upon entering the offices of the WCA. 

She spotted Jon at the outdoor café. He wore dark sunglasses as he sat on one of the delicate, black steel chairs, a laptop on his table. A beard covered half his face and he had a giant cup of coffee beside him. He gave a slight nod, signalling to her he’d seen her too. Catelyn walked past him. _Five, four, three, two, one. . ._

Jon got up, dropped bills on the table and folded up the laptop. Soon he was walking behind her, exactly seven paces away.  
Catelyn sat on a bench at a bus stop, still looking around discreetly. Jon walked past her, messenger bag slung across his chest, hands in the pockets f his jacket. The bus rolled to a stop before her and she got on it. She grasped one of the overhead railings. 

When the bus pulled up by Fishmonger’s Square, she stepped down. She continued looking for CCTV cameras mounted close by, despite the entire street being a market and always bursting with crowds. 

She kept her face averted from the small cameras she saw or to be less obvious, made a point to move with a large group or a big person. She didn’t dare break out, walking coolly all the way to the end of the street before she hailed a cab. 

“Steel Street,” she instructed the driver. 

As she sat back, she heard her phone buzz. It was a message from Jon.

_ETA ten minutes._

Catelyn tucked the phone back in her pocket. The cab was still two blocks away from Steel Street when she told the driver to drop her off in front of The Dragonpit, an after-hours club that was closed and clearly deserted in the day. She slid out, pretended to go around the back before going back to check if the cab was gone. She crossed the street.

Catelyn wove through alleys, walking with quick, confident strides whenever druggies or beggars glanced at her. “The Seven bless you, child,” told a beggar after she dropped a five-dollar-stag note in his cup without stopping. There was no mistaking the look on her face: she may be a woman alone but she was not to be messed with. Those in the middle of another illegal exchange actually carved a path out for her to pass before she turned toward a main street. Again, she checked for CCTV cameras from the alley. 

She unwound the sleek roll that held her auburn hair back, shook it, and crossed the street toward Sin Rostro. 

She walked up the familiar glass door and rapped her knuckles on it. The screen blinds behind went up a few seconds later and Jaqen’s gray eyes looked at her from head to foot.

Catelyn sighed inwardly. Did he really think she was an impostor? “Valar morghulis.”

He nodded and unlocked the door. “Valar dohaeris.”

Catelyn slipped past him, grateful for the safety the old, worn tailoring shop offered. She watched Jaqen throw down three different locks on the door before he pulled the blinds down. Discovering she was watching him, he explained, “I put them in last night. Also replaced the glass with a bulletproof one.”

“How did it go?” He knew what she was talking about.

“Jaime Lannister died of cardiac arrest. But,” he said, “we both know what is dead may never die.”

He nodded behind her and Catelyn went forward to part the curtains. 

A thin beam of the fading afternoon light entered the dark room through a narrow skylight. Catelyn first saw the tip of a black sneaker, then another, going up long legs encased in the loose, gray pants of The Black Cells. 

Jaime Lannister was once again tied to a chair, chin slumped forward. He was so still she thought him dead and was about to yell at Jaqen when he let out a very loud snore. 

“How?” Catelyn remained on her spot by the door.

“Essence of Nightshade.”

“In his food?”

“Better that you don’t know, Cat. So. Do I get an A?" Jaqen was smug.

She looked at him. “It depends on what else you’ve got for me. And I know you’d much rather have twenty thousand gold dragons.”

“You know this man well,” Jaqen agreed. But his face was grim as he regarded the snoozing Lannister. “Him. . .knowing him, you’d wish for the mercy of the Stranger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for now. Work demands more of me. Watch out for the next chapter next week.


	25. Two Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Golden, beautiful, graceful, snarling Cersei and Brienne, pale, ugly, awkward, with a gravity in her features that did not help what little looks she had. The palm she suddenly pressed to his cheek was warm but rough and he wondered how many men found their end at it.

_Sexual assault ahead. Kindly skip this chapter if the subject offends you._

 

Cersei Lannister sat on the white, silken sofa of her all-white living room like a queen. Regal from the crown of thick, golden curls cascading down her shoulders to the blood-red tips of her stilettos, she sat with a slim leg crossed over the other. 

As she did quite often, she wore a blood-red dress tailored to emphasize the deep, feminine curves of her body. The color choice was deliberate; it served to remind people who she was and what she was capable of, that she was the lion of her family’s sigil. Like her father Tywin, she often looked displeased though it did nothing to lessen the perfection her face: a small oval, with arched brows, deep, emerald eyes and a natural pouting mouth. 

She looked so untouchable amidst all that white, looking so clean and so beautiful, more beautiful than Jaime could remember. He hesitated by the door. It had been so long since he had been in her apartment but the discomfort that plagued him when in it was still very familiar. Cersei only allowed him in her bedroom and not very long. Her bedroom was also all-white, neat and pristine. The only place that was ever comfortable for him there was Cersei’s cunt.

He waited for her to call for him, either with a look or to say the words.

Instead, she looked at him from head to toe. Jaime winced. His cheek still hurt and he could still smell the dried blood on his skin. Her eyes met his, mirrors to his own emerald gaze. Mouth twist, she declared, “You left me.”

He shook his head quickly. “I left father, not you.”

“You left me alone,” Cersei continued, smoothly talking over him. “I told you to just keep your mouth shut. It was done.”

“Did you really expect me to go on as if nothing happened?”

“He’s a monster.”

Jaime breathed heavily. “Tyrion is our brother.”

“You left me for him,” she accused.

“I left because I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as father. How can you live with what he did to his own son?”

“He’s not my blood.”

Cersei had always hated Tyrion from the day he was born. Jaime understood it yet was still appalled. It wasn’t his baby brother’s fault that their mother died giving birth to him. It wasn’t his fault he was deformed, a dwarf with too big a head and too-short arms and legs. They were twelve years old when it happened and he thought it was normal for his sister to be unforgiving but until now? And to just stand by and let their father Tywin do what he did? 

“How do you think I lived all these years?” Cersei demanded, her eyes blazing at him. “I couldn’t see you. Couldn’t touch you. Have I been replaced, my brother?”

 _“Never,”_ he vowed and quickly went to sit down beside her. He reached for her hand. “Cersei—“

She hissed, snatched her hand away and stood up. She walked to the other side of the room. “Why come back? You took too long.”

Her words were icy water to his face. “What—what do you mean?”

“I was already pregnant, Jaime,” she said, facing him. Her hands rested on her slim, flat stomach. “I begged you, remember? Don’t say a word, I said. Shut up about it, I said. But you had to fight father, didn’t you? You had to lose me, your son, everything, for that monster.”

“He was speaking the truth.”

“You would lose everything for what somebody stands for,” Cersei’s laugh was harsh and cruel, “but what of us?”

“You would have a man who just stands aside while his father has his brother committed for a lie?” Jaime shot back, shooting to his feet. 

“I want a man who will never leave me.” Cersei bit out, meeting his glare. “How do you think life has been for me and your son?”

“A son you’ve never let me see. I don’t even know his name.”

“For your protection. And his.”

“What the fuck from?”

“I know you. You always think so rashly, without heed for consequences. You see him and you’ll want him. You’ll take him away.”

“I would never do that.”

“Just as you swore to always be at my side. Remember, when we first had each other? You said we’ll always be together. That we will die together, side by side. That you would kill anyone who gets between us. Your words are shit.”

Jaime, who had been about to cross to her and take her hard in his arms, froze in mid-stride. Cersei was looking at him as if he was a life form lower than a fungus. As if he was something she’d crush under her stilettos if she could. Where was the lover that had given him secret smiles from across a room? The lover who had kissed him amidst whispers of passion and want. The lover who was his first, for everything. _Everything._

And thought she would be the last to hurt him. 

“There are things going on, Cersei. But you should know that I’m doing them to protect you and our son.”

“You can’t protect us if you’re not around.”

“I once begged you to run away with me.” 

“And what of my life?”

“I thought it was me,” he whispered.

“You fool.”

It should be the knife to his heart. Instead, Jaime stormed to her and grabbed her. Cersei cried out, beating at his chest with her little fists. She managed to strike him across the face but he slammed her against the wall. “You’re hurting me, Jaime!” She whimpered, beautiful even as she cried. 

“I don’t care,” he growled and took her narrow jaw in his hand, gripping her. Cersei whimpered as he pressed his mouth to her. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a hard contact of flesh, one needing, one resistant. She kept her lips pursed, shaking her head wildly while he continued his assault, hands hard on her face, on her shoulders. He grabbed her breasts through her suit and squeezed, painfully.

She screamed. He chuckled and pushed his tongue between her lips.

Cersei bit him.

Hard.

Jaime gasped and wrenched himself away from her, turning. Blood flooded his mouth. “Hells,” he hissed, wiping at the blood with the back of his hand. He looked back at Cersei, intending to give her a taste of her own medicine.

Instead, it was Brienne Tarth glowering at him from the wall. 

White was definitely not her color. She was too pale, too freckly, and her hair was just a couple of shades away from her clothes. Her eyes were bright blue orbs, searchlights. She was looking at him with both surprise and disappointment. 

For the first time in Jaime’s life, he wanted to humble himself and fall to his knees. He would laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation except his tongue hurt.

“This is not who you are, Jaime,” Brienne said. She was reproachful yet also gentle. Her voice was a silken caress to his ears. She said his name as if it was a wish, a desire. 

Grunting from the pain in his tongue, he managed to say, “You don’t know me.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed. “But you do what you believe is right. This is not it.”

“Why don’t you fuck your own brother and then you tell me about it?”

He expected fire from those eyes of hers. Instead, she pushed herself from the wall and walked to him. 

The difference between the two women couldn’t be more pronounced. Golden, beautiful, graceful, snarling Cersei and Brienne, pale, ugly, awkward, with a gravity in her features that did not help what little looks she had. The palm she suddenly pressed to his cheek was warm but rough and he wondered how many men found their end at it. If he was next, he’d welcome it. He just wished she wasn’t the Warrior Renly had promised her to be, but the Stranger.

“I’d like to believe there is still some good in you, Jaime.” She caressed his cheek. Her hand was bigger than his face and heavy but it had been so long since he had been touch like this--with care.

He wanted very much to lean into her touch. 

His heart raced when he realized that turning to her touch and pressing a kiss there would be better. 

His cock agreed.

“Don’t.”

“Why? Duty?” 

Jaime swallowed. She was still touching him and she was looking at him hungrily. This was not helping the situation in his pants. What the hell? She was not Cersei. She hadn’t even kissed him. Brienne Tarth had nothing about her that should trigger such a response. The pain was both hot and thrilling. 

“Responsibility,” he whispered.

“But to whom, Jaime?”

He couldn’t answer her. Indeed, to whom?

Brienne looked down between them. Jaime followed her gaze and felt himself go warm all over. His erection was straining toward her.  
She shook her head. When she raised her eyes back to him, they were bright. Red cheeks complemented their vivid blueness.

“This not the way up, Jaime.” 

“Huh?”

She leaned her forehead against his. Her breath was warm. He inhaled, deeply taking it in his lungs. 

He felt himself beginning to float away from the floor. 

“Wake up, Jaime,” she whispered. “Wake up.” 

 

Brienne Tarth, who was on guard duty for Jaime Lannister tonight, rose from the couch at the sound of his groans and guttural whispers. She watched him for a few seconds, wishing she could free him from his restraints, how she would lay him on the couch if she could but that would be in defiance of a direct order. 

Instead she went to him, putting her hand on his warm cheek, his stubble rough and sharp, while the other lowered to his chest. His heart beat so fast and so hard she worried it would burst out of its cavity. “Jaime,” she urged him, shaking him gently. “You’re having a dream. Wake up. Jaime, wake up.”

She almost jumped away when he awakened with a gasp, like a man breaking through the surface of the water after holding his breath so long. She dropped to her knees, her hand still on his cheek, the other drifting to his knee as his wide, red-rimmed green eyes stared at her, first with fear laced with panicked. His pupils were dilated, almost overtaking the green.

“It’s over,” she whispered, her other hand now joining the one on his knees. Together, they rubbed his denim-clad thighs. “Jaime, do you hear me? It’s over. You’re awake.”

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Okay,” she murmured. “You’re okay. Right, Jaime?”

Still unable to form words, he nodded again.

“Is there anything I can do?”

His black pupils began to shrink. Unconsciously, Brienne’s hands cupped his face.

“Kiss me.”

He was looking at her as if he could see everything when he spoke, softly yet so suddenly.

She shook her head. “This isn’t a dream, Jaime.”

“Precisely why you should kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! 
> 
> Thank you very much for your patience. You can look forward to regular updates again.


	26. In Her Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Her eyes will hide nothing. You will see everything there, including yourself. And you might not like it, Lannister.”

Jaime didn’t know why he said it. Still caught up in his dream, he was sure, not to mention that it had been so long since he had been kissed that anyone would do. It was the reason he clung to as he looked right into her eyes, so blue and so calm. _Eyes he could drown in._

Given his state in the dream and what was becoming a rising awareness in his pants, it was inevitable he would ask her for a kiss. Hells, he awakened to find her kneeling before him and looking up at him as if in worship, in need, worry etched on her pale, splotchy face. Her hands on him felt warmer, heavier--more real than anything he had felt. She was very real. 

Her whispers had dragged him from the dream. They were faint sounds but her voice had touched him unlike anything before. If Cersei’s breathy whispers in his ear sent his blood afire, Brienne’s was a cool, slow gush, like the calmest stream. When he opened his eyes and saw her on her knees, her hands on his thighs, looking at him helplessly, he suddenly glimpsed the woman Renly had long promised him. She was not the agent who had threatened to expose his darkest secret only to swear to him shortly what had pretty much been a holy vow, not the agent who delivered on her promise to send him to the Black Cells. 

If his hands were not bound, he would touch her cheek and count the freckles there with his thumb. He would lean closer until her eyes were all that he could see. With their brilliance, they may as well be his light in the dark. In this world. 

Yet he was holding his breath. Wondering if she would as he asked. His eyes fell to her lips. They were thick and plump, and looked swollen but not the sexy, bee-stung pout that was the rage in Westeros among women. 

Jaime licked his chapped lips.

Brienne suddenly leaped to her feet and pushed away from him as if he’d burned her.

Tall and magnificent even in her odd, sleeveless white blouse with blue flowers, jeans and socked feet, she looked at him as if determining where to hit him hard first, then harder and hardest. 

“Don’t you mock me.”

Jaime didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed but he didn’t want to be stared at in the way she was doing. “I apologize.”

“Really.”

He lowered his eyes to the floor then looked around, everywhere but at her, before he gathered what little courage he had left and risked himself before those blue pools.

“I was dreaming. I’m disoriented. Where am I?”

“Nice try, Lannister,” Brienne huffed, turning away from him. “You think you can mock me and then trick me in one breath?”

She strode to a coffee table where there was a tray with a pitcher of water and glasses. The pitcher was steel and heavy-looking but looked like a silver dove in her hand as she held it, pouring water into a glass. She put a straw in the water and took the drink to him.

Jaime tasted her skin as his mouth clamped around the straw. Brienne jumped and he had to stamp down the chuckle threatening to bubble out of him. Instead, he sucked through the straw. His parched throat was grateful  
.   
“Can you see straight?” Brienne asked when he had emptied the glass. She put it on the coffee table and continued to stand before him, hands on her thick waist. “Do you feel dizzy?”

“What have you done to me this time?”

“It wasn’t me, I’m sorry to say. I don’t know exactly why you’re out either. But don’t think for a second that you’re free.”

“I’m beginning to think my life will be spent in chains,” Jaime rejoined. He looked at the chains that circled him. He also felt the handcuffs on his wrists, which kept him to the chair. “But why get me out of that hellhole if you’re going to keep me like this? I mean, what if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“Agent Stark will take you. Or somebody else. Definitely not me.”

“Ah,” Jaime grinned. “They don’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Maybe it’s you they don’t trust,” Brienne nodded at the chains before she returned to the couch. Jaime watched her stretch across it, lifting her long legs to its fat arm. Her feet were long, clad in thick white socks that had been used and abused countless times. He wondered if even her toes had freckles. He scanned the rest of her, noting the hard muscles of her thighs straining against her jeans even in their relaxed state, the sliver of pale skin bared between the waistband and her too-feminine blouse rucked up a bit. Flat on her back, he detected the lack of any curve on her chest, not even the slightest mound. Did she wear a bra?

No, he remembered. During their tussle at the stairs from what seemed like a lifetime ago, he had found himself pressed against her chest. What breasts she had were slight buds. 

Not in any way like Cersei’s. Yet try as he did to remember his sister’s breasts, it was the giant blond’s he remembered despite having only glimpsed it once.

And tasted it. 

His cock remembered that too.

Seven fucking hells. 

Because he refused to go through this strange torture by himself, he thought to rile her up.

“My back aches,” he told her as her eyes closed.

“Unless you’re hungry, need more water or need to go to the bathroom, I’m going back to sleep,” she murmured, her eyes still shut. 

“Bacon would be nice,” Jaime said hopefully. “And waffles.”

Brienne opened one eye and looked at him. Then opened the other. 

“I am hungry,” Jaime admitted. “How long have I been here?”

“I don’t know either.” Brienne picked up her watch from the table and sighed loudly. “Jaime, it’s one in the morning.”

“And the last thing I remember eating was something so starchy that if I were a teenaged girl I’d break out. You took me out of my very comfortable cell. The least you could do is give me the necessary fat and protein.”

“The least you could do for us getting you out of Viserys Targaryen’s hands is to be _quiet._ ”

“I’m wide awake. I do admit I’m having the strangest body reactions but I can definitely tell you sleep is the last thing on my mind.”  
He winked at her.

Brienne, still sitting on the couch in a way that was not feminine in the slightest, narrowed her eyes at him. Ah, there it was. Anything sexual or hinted at it pulled that reaction. 

“I also need to go to the bathroom.”

“What the fuck, Lannister,” she groaned.

“I seem to recall, quite clearly, that you were calling me Jaime a while ago. If you can’t call me by my proper title, at least call me by name. Lannister’s a bit too cold, wouldn’t you say? Given what we’ve been through. That was a very close encounter at the stairs, don’t you think?”  
Brienne looked puzzled at first before her face cleared in realization. Jaime smiled innocently as her cheeks bloomed with the vividness of the sweetest apples.

“I’ll get Agent Stark.”

“Is he asleep?”

“Everyone except us,” Brienne complained. 

“It wouldn’t make sense to rouse a man from a deep slumber. Methinks he’s going to wish you dead for waking him up to bring me to the bathroom. Something tells me he won’t be very appreciative of my cock when I whip it out. You, on the other hand—“

“The Seven fuck me hard, anytime, however they want to, if only you’d shut up,” Brienne hissed, pushing her feet in her sneakers before stomping toward him. She pulled out the keys from her jeans pockets and started unlocking the chains. “Don’t get any ideas, Lannister. You make any attempt to escape and I have orders to shoot you on the spot. You hear me?”

He was never going to question her again, nor put that to the test. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jaime grunted as she hauled him up roughly. His legs were cramped from being in a sitting position for hours. The chains slid down the floor. Expecting Brienne to remove his handcuffs, he was surprised when she started pushing him away from the chair. He raised an eyebrow at her inquiringly. 

“In the bathroom,” she growled.

“Oh, good. I thought for a moment there you’ll be unzipping me and taking my cock out,” he told her. She turned redder and turned away, muttering under her breath about switching shifts and fucking prisoners. She didn’t see how his own flushed as an image sprang before him without warning: Brienne on her knees, her too-big mouth opening wide to take his cock deep in her throat, those unusual eyes of hers on him.   
Jaime cursed under his breath. He will have the head of the person who had given him those knock-out drops or whatever. He had gone without his sister too long that his cock no longer cared if a cunt was attached to an ugly blond beast.

Brienne preceded Jaime to the bathroom, switching on the light then jerking with her head that he go in. Jaime grinned at her then turned around, showing her his still-handcuffed wrists. 

“I’m warning you again, Lannister,” she said, sighing loudly and unlocking them. “I have orders to shoot you if you do anything besides pee.”

“You’ll shoot me for taking a shit?”

“Fuck you. _In._ ” And she shoved him in the bathroom. 

Jaime staggered, glared at her because he nearly toppled headfirst to the toilet. He rubbed his reddened wrists. The door remained open and she was glaring at him too.

“Can’t a man have some privacy?” He whined.

“Not you,” she said simply, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. “What are you waiting for?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “I’m not accustomed to an audience while I do something private.”

“Fucking my twin sister or peeing in front of a stranger,” Brienne mimed weighing them in her hands. She lowered one and raised the other. “Which is more embarrassing?”

He did not appreciate the dig but kept his mouth shut. Instead, he muttered, “If I damage my kidneys it’s on you.” He unzipped his pants and turned, making sure to give her only his back as began to relieve himself. 

The bathroom was tiny—his closet in his humble bungalow was bigger. Spartan white tiles and a toilet that was only serviceable rather than built for comfort, a narrow tub and a peeling sink showed its age and disrepair. Jaime looked down at his cock, relieved that it wasn’t so hard anymore but peeing was still a challenge. Finishing, he shook himself dry and tucked it back in his pants.

He started to turn toward Brienne when he saw her outrage. “Wash your hands!” She admonished him. 

Jaime sighed loudly and turned toward the sink. A small, rectangular mirror that doubled as a medicine cabinet was mounted above it. As he washed his hands, he saw Brienne’s gaze tracking every movement he made. Smirking, he moved his hands to the right, to the left, then back to the right. He laughed when she snarled at him to quit fucking around and hurry up.

He wasn’t laughing when she handcuffed him from behind again. With her hand at his back, she urged him forward.

“So, wife, what have you prepared for your poor husband?” Jaime joked as she shoved him into the small kitchen then towards a narrow dining table. “Hells,” he muttered as she pushed him there roughly. He heard the click of handcuffs being unsnapped and he started to move his arms but she swatted him on the head.

“Not so fast, Lannister,” she snapped, yanking his arms back. 

“Jaime,” he insisted. He frowned when he realized she had handcuffed him to the chair. “Fucking hells, Blue,” he growled, remembering his nickname for her, “how do you expect me to eat?”

“I don’t trust you, that’s why,” she explained.

Brienne went to the cupboards. At her height, she did not have to strain to reach them. Nevertheless, as she raised her arms, Jaime once again glimpsed her stomach. It was paler than the rest of her and also splashed with freckles. It was a broad slab yet firm, judging from the muscled ridges outlined on it. He licked his lips.

“What harm do you think I’ll bring you with a spoon?” He pointed out, frowning when she started pouring cornflakes into a bowl. She still had her back to him. He cursed his bound state, cursed even more that he should have taken advantage of his freedom in the bathroom. She looked like she could break every bone in his body but he was a desperate man. Men in his situation got braver, he believed. And also more stupid. He couldn’t tell where she kept her gun but it was definitely somewhere on her person that was hidden very well.

“Or how about with a fork?” He continued as she went to the fridge and withdrew a carton of milk. Brienne sniffed its spout before judging it was still safe. She poured it toward the cornflakes then got a spoon from the drawer. “Is that what you’re worried about, Blue? That I’ll spoon you? We’ll have to fork first before I do, just saying.”

“A most tempting offer,” Brienne retorted, returning to the table with the bowl of cereal. She set it before him, spoon in her hand. She dragged a chair toward him then sat down. They were eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose. Her dry breath was warm on his cheek. “But no thank you.”

“How about if you keep my other hand bound. This is. . .fuck, I’m not a child, Blue.” He stared at her with distaste as she smushed the cornflakes in the milk. “Can’t you even throw slices of fruit in there? That’s all fat and sugar.” He shuddered.

“Let me remind you that it’s one fucking twenty a.m. Consider the fact that I’m feeding you a huge favour. This is above and beyond I signed up for, Lannister.” 

Then she scooped up the food and shoved it to his mouth. He glared at her as his lips closed around the spoon and brought the soggy cornflakes to his tongue. He chewed, loudly and deliberately.

He swallowed and said, “This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

Brienne’s laugh was loud, a hacking, high-pitched sound. Jaime frowned at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, spooning another mouthful towards his lips.

“A Lannister doesn’t care for the opinion of sheep,” he said between chewing. He shrugged.

“Never been compared to sheep before,” Brienne commented. “It’s a nice change, really.”

His eyes flashed. “Sheep can’t think for themselves. They just follow.”

“And their fleece is very much needed, not to mention that they make a good stew and they’re just flat-out adorable,” Brienne added. “They’re not as destructive as lions.”

Jaime couldn’t ignore that jab this time. “What’s destruction for lesser life forms are necessary for lions.”

“Such as what? Taking down another animal? Torturing the poor animal until it’s outrunned?” Brienne shrugged this time. “It’s unnecessary cruelty, if you ask me. Why not just kill the animal right away if that’s the intention from the beginning. Open your mouth.”

Jaime obeyed, too late realizing the implication. Brienne smirked knowingly. As he chewed, he said, “I asked for bacon.”

“I asked to be relieved of guard duty tonight yet here I am.” 

“And leave me at the mercy of Agent Stark?” When Brienne laughed again, Jaime regarded her, cocking his head to the side. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know him _very well._ ”

The innuendo was not lost on Brienne. Though she scowled at him, she was powerless against the crimson spots on her cheeks. Jaime couldn’t remember a time a woman had ever blushed around him.

“We’re partners.”

“Like you and Renly were partners?”

Brienne suddenly stood up. “Would you like juice? You look like you could use some.”

Renly Baratheon was clearly an off-limits subject. Nothing made Jaime want to do things more than when it was forbidden. He watched her reach in the fridge for a pitcher of what looked to be lemonade. It sloshed loudly down the glass as she poured it, loud in the quiet of the hour.

“He told me about you,” Jaime continued. “He recruited you, he said. The brightest and the most talented. That when you’re out in the field, he felt the safest with you.” 

Brienne’s back faced him but he could see the hard, stiff line of her shoulders. 

“Why was he the only one undercover? Where were you?”

“What did he tell you about me?” Brienne asked softly, turning her head slightly to the side but not completely facing him. She had resumed pouring his juice.

Jaime remembered the last time he saw Renly. It had been in parking lot. Their cars were parked side by side. Jaime was beginning to believe the other man’s suspicions about Arthur’s death. Renly was quick to tell him to keep a cool head.

“It will be alright,” he told Jaime. “Don’t let them know what you know.”

“We’re talking about a murder here,” Jaime pointed out.

“I know. Believe me, I know. But until there’s enough proof there’s really nothing to do but sit tight and stay low.”

“That’s not good enough for me.”

“Look, should something happen, remember these names.” Renly lowered his voice. “Howland Reed. Brienne Tarth. Howland is the director of the WCA. Brienne Tarth is an agent. They’ll come to you. Trust them.”

“I don’t know who they are.”

“But you trust me, Lannister. You don’t know me that well.”

“Don’t be too sure about that. You might just be a kook and I’m the idiot who believes.”

“That suspicion might protect you. But I trust them with my life. Especially her.” Renly’s voice adopted a different register at the last word. He sounded tender, yearning. “Yes, I trust Brienne with my life.”

“She’s special, this Brienne Tarth?”

Renly’s smile was thin and sad. “More than the world will know.” 

“He sounded different when talking about you,” Jaime told Brienne now. She was slowly sitting down, a glass of juice next to the bowl. Noticing her shoulders were still tense, he said, softly, savouring every word, “You were fucking him.”

She met his stare directly, sapphires against emeralds. “You have a problem with who I fuck, Lannister? Since we’ve met the subject of who I take between my legs has been very fascinating to you. I know what I look like. I know it boggles the mind that someone would fuck me with this face. But I’ve had so many thrown at me about my looks that I no longer hear them. Whatever it is you want to say, it can’t be anything I haven’t heard before.” 

It was true. She was ugly. Hers was a face even the kindest mother would struggle to love. Yet as he lived in the darkness of the Black Cells, he had thought little else but those eyes. His sister came to mind, her cool smiles, her frantic whispers that he hurry or they would get caught. These memories have been colored by a sapphire haze. What else did Renly say about her? “Her eyes will hide nothing. You will see everything there, including yourself. And you might not like it, Lannister.”

He wondered if Renly knew about his relationship with Cersei. Howland Reed had threatened to make the information public if Jaime didn’t do as ordered. I trust Brienne, Renly had said. 

Brienne poised the glass toward him. “Drink.”

“No straw?”

“You’re not a child.” 

She stood up to tip the glass between his lips without spilling. He drank the sweet liquid halfway before he pulled his head back, signalling he was done. She sat down and guided a spoonful of soggy cornflakes toward him.

He shook his head. “I’m done.”

He wasn’t speaking of being full. Brienne somehow picked up his exact meaning. She continued to look at him, though, as if waiting for him to make a surprise move. 

“I apologize,” he told her. “It wasn’t my business to pry.”

She stood up and began to put away the bowl and the glass. “I suppose that’s more than I could hope for from you.”

That hurt. Maybe because whatever he had been given was still in his system—he was normally above caring what other people outside of his family thought. It stung how she had brushed away what for him was always difficult to do—admit his mistake and be contrite. Worse was that she expected nothing from him—even when she had the right to demand it or beat him to death for it.   
This was how she saw him.

 _It hurt like a motherfucker._ Like all the swords in the ancient Iron Throne plunged into him all at once. 

“That is unfair, Brienne.”

Her eyes were wide in surprise. It was the first time he had called her by her name.

“I meant what I said. I _am_ sorry.”

Seven Hells. Was he begging her for forgiveness?

He was. 

She loaded the dishwasher then turned it on. Her motions were efficient rather than graceful and flowing. She went to him, met his gaze warily before proceeding to unlock the cuffs that attached him to the back of the chair. He leaned back and there was her scent, a clean, generic smell that called to mind spring and rain. He first smelled it in the stairwell, when he had nuzzled her chest, and then when he was shoved out of the van. It was so soft and subtle he had to be real close to her. She pulled him, cuffed his hands behind him again. She started urging him back to the living room, her hand heavy on the middle of his back.

“Brienne,” he told her, turning to look at her. 

“What?”

Jaime Lannister was a man who never gave a second thought to his actions. He stared at her face, taking note of the deep lines between her thick, blond eyebrows as she frowned at him, expecting more nastiness in spite of his apology. The world did that, he thought. But he was the last. It will end with him.

“Brienne,” he whispered, rolling her name in his tongue like the sweetest candy before he crossed the last few inches between them. She was both too far and so achingly near. His bound arms kept him from getting her any closer. But his lips did for him what they couldn’t, closing at last the distance between them with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! Woot-woot! 
> 
> *I've taken some lines and inspiration from the bath scene in the show. I thought at first that mabye Jaime could attempt to escape but Brienne being Brienne, she would shoot him on the spot.


	27. Don't Go There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her eyes were dark, embarrassment reddening her face. “What the hell are you doing?”  
> Though his eyes were hazy with lust, he looked at her with irritation. “Flossing. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

There were kisses and there were kisses.

 _This_ one was something else.

Brienne reeled back in surprise from the sudden touch of Jaime’s lips to hers but he caught her lower lip between his teeth, gently, and pulled her back. Shocked and still disbelieving over what was happening, she could only stand with her arms hanging down as he pressed himself against her, his chest at the level of her own. 

His kiss was soft, almost hesitant, a brush of lips against other and the lightest flick of a tongue, just for taste. She had expected demand and boldness. Not this. Never this.

She tilted her head and began to kiss him back. Slowly, her hands cupped his face. 

His beard scratched against her chin, his nose pressed too closely to her cheek that it seemed they were breathing as one. Her kisses were lighter than his, more tentative, discovering he tasted of milk and sugar. She moved her hands, still keeping them on his face, and a shiver ran up her arms at the sensations his rough beard awakened in her. He grunted and she thought he would stop. He only tilted his head, finding the right angle to meet her kiss for kiss. With her hand, she gently thumbed his lips open and, imitating what he had done earlier, sucked at his lip.

_He fucked his sister, he might as well have brought the apocalypse._  
_He’s just counting the days when he’ll leave you hanging, Brienne. From a noose._  
_Mine._

“Brienne,” he groaned hoarsely.

Brienne gasped at the same time Jaime’s erection bumped against her mound. Their heights closely matched but she had an inch or two over him. But he pressed himself against her, the hard planes of his chest rubbing against her breasts, a button digging against her nipple. He moved, getting closer, as if he had always belonged with her. Nothing could be farther from the truth. She grasped him by the collar of his t-shirt and shoved him against the wall.

Her eyes were dark, embarrassment reddening her face. “What the hell are you doing?”

Though his eyes were hazy with lust, he looked at her with irritation. “Flossing. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re a bastard, Jaime, do you know that?”

“So that’s what will get you to say my name,” he whispered, unfazed at how she still gripped him and kept him pinned to the wall with her large, muscular frame. She let out a frustrated growl and released him. He remained against the wall as she stepped back, red-faced and her lips redder and more full. 

“We’re two adults. Consenting adults,” he told her. His lips were wet and redder than hers. Brienne recalled taking a moment to suck at his lower lip just seconds ago and wanted to kick herself. _“You kissed me too.”_

“Not interested.” Brienne wiped the back of her hand against her mouth as she glared at him. “Save it for your sister.”

They stared at each other. Both of them were breathing hard as they had just come from a brutal run. Her entire body was tense, taut, while Jaime seemed to relax against the wall though there was no mistaking the bulge in his pants. Her fists curled in a desperate battle to stop the rattling in her knees as she found herself before his heated gaze, eyes that told her he knew her number and there was nothing she could damn do about it. _He doesn’t want you. He misses his sister, that’s all._

Words that should make her remember. They did. And with it, came pain, and another emotion she refused to acknowledge in spite of the heavy tug at her heart. _The moment you let your guard down, what to you think he’ll do to you?_

Jaime looked about to lunge for her when a familiar voice spoke.

“What’s going on here?”

Both of them turned around. Brienne’s face went full blush as Jaqen H’ghar stared at them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. His gray eyes leaped from Jaime to her and rested there. Jaqen raised an eyebrow and dropped his eyes to her chest. Brienne looked down. 

Despite his lack of hands, Jaime Lannister had managed to loosen some buttons of her blouse., from when he’d rubbed against her like a cat. Brienne cast him a murderous look as she swiftly turned around and started buttoning it. She was not wearing a bra.

“I’m afraid I’m making it very hard for Brienne to handle me,” Jaime told Jaqen, totally unaffected with what had happened. 

Brienne frowned as she continued fumbling with her buttons. Men like him expected women to be happy with what little was thrown to them. She was so ugly that Jaime pitied her and thought that at least she had to have a kiss from a man such as he, golden, god-like and beautiful. It was a sobering thought but it calmed Brienne’s heart and stopped the violent rush of blood in her veins. She faced the two men again with all the buttons of her blouse in their proper places all the way to the collar. 

Jaqen, who now stood between them, partially blocked Brienne. But her face heated when Jaime, with just the slightest movement of his head, was able to peer at her in spite of the other man’s massive frame.

“Looks to me like she’s not the one having a hard time,” Jaqen said. Jaime looked bored in spite of his obvious erection.

Jaime shrugged. “I haven’t had a woman in a while. Anyone would do.”

Jaqen looked disapproving at Jaime’s crassness while Brienne tried not to be affected. She knew that. Did he have to say it out loud? “Are you alright, Brienne?”Jaqen asked. 

“I’m good.” She turned her head away from Jaime. 

“You can take my bed. There’s also a change of clothes for you. They should fit. I’ll take the next watch,” Jaqen told her, pointing with his thumb behind him. “Go. Sleep. You look like somebody punched you in the eyes.”

Though she knew the answer, Brienne couldn’t resist getting back at Jaime. “And Robb?”

Jaime, who made a sound that seemed like a growl, suddenly started coughing.

“In the next room. The bed’s quite small but I think he expects you to join him.”

“Jon would be returning in a couple of hours. He’s going to be tired. He can have your bed.”

“If that suits you.”

Brienne nodded and brushed past between the two men. Since she didn’t look back, she didn’t see the contempt on Jaime’s face, along with a glare at her back as sharp as knives. Noticing this, Jaqen called his attention.

“She’s all that stands between you and us,” he said.

“And who are you?” Jaime was arrogant.

“No one. Now let’s get you back to your chains.” 

“Enjoy the sight of me like this while it lasts,” Jaime vowed as he was shoved back to his seat and Jaqen started winding them around him. “I’m getting out of here.”

 

Brienne went to Jaqen’s room first. Her neck and shoulders were in knots and there was still a gentle tremor throughout her body, fucking damn it. Her lips still felt swollen and tingly and licking them just made the sensation worse. When she started unbuttoning her blouse, she realized that it was damp with sweat. The central air conditioning gave the small place cool ventilation and she had not been sweating nor felt hot at any point since arriving here. The idea that this was body still reacting to Jaime made her want to throw things. Instead, she wrenched off her clothes. Naked, she pulled on Jaqen’s t-shirt and track pants. The t-shirt was quite short, just clearing past her stomach, and the pants a bit on the snug side. But they were clean and comfortable. The fact that they haven’t been touched by Jaime was a huge plus. She wanted to shower but that would mean having to pass the living room and she’d rather not see him unless she had to.

Brienne looked longingly at the bed but she meant it when she said that Jon could have it. He had gone to his apartment to get clothes for Robb and promised to Brienne he’ll find a way to go to hers undetected so he could her stuff too before he returned to the office. Jon and Catelyn had left shortly after their rendezvous as, aside from overseeing the comfort of the agents they were hiding, they had continuing commitments back at the Golden Company, which included tracking down possible leaks and covering for both her and Robb. Their meeting had given them more information, thanks to the encrypted files Catelyn had downloaded with the help of Oberyn’s codes and Jaqen’s own research. Knowing more had brought grimmer news and at the moment, they didn’t have a solid plan on how to finish the mission once and for all. 

She went to the next room. It was dark except for the faint disc of the moon throwing down some light on Robb’s sleeping figure. He lay sprawled on the small bed, taking up a lot of space. But he grunted and raised his head when the door squeaked as Brienne started closing the door. She murmured an apology but he shook his head.

“Just don’t snore,” he told her, shifting to the side to make room for her. Brienne blushed. She did snore.

She tucked herself under the blankets and turned, giving Robb her back. The sheets rustled and the mattress let out a soft whine as he moved. His breath, feather-light on her shoulder, told her he was facing her. 

“This is more comfortable for me, sleeping on my right,” he explained. “I hope it’s alright.”

“You know it is. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be.”

Brienne closed her eyes. 

“Brienne?” Robb asked softly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think this will end?”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. “I hope so. It should. We have to make sure it does.”

She thought he nodded. She closed her eyes again.

“This is a wild plan,” Robb continued, yawning. “And this is just sleep talking but I thought to tell you. You can tell me what you think about it come morning.”

“Very considerate of you.”

Robb laughed, a bit too loudly. Brienne hoped Jaime heard that. She hoped he thought they were fucking. That would shut him up and stop pestering her. Still, a small part of her, small, infinitesimally small, she clarified to herself, was a little disappointed that there would be no chance for another stolen kiss.

“I’m serious,” Robb said. “I think Jaime Lannister should be returned.”

Brienne turned so swiftly that the mattress shrieked. Robb almost fell off from her sudden movement. “What the fuck, Robb?”  
“It’s just an idea. The guy’s DNA unlocks the other Widlfyre. We need him back there, Brienne. But I’m just spitballing. Tell me in the morning what you think.”

He closed his eyes.

“I don’t have to wait until tomorrow,” Brienne told him. “It’s a terrible idea, one that will definitely get him killed.”

“The way I see it, a world without Jaime Lannister sounds like a good one.”

Brienne couldn’t bring herself to agree.

She punched her pillow. _You ought to be shot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's the plan, Robb? 
> 
> Some readers might be wondering if Robb and Brienne have some sexual tension since they've made out quite a lot (and not just during the events written) and seem comfortable with each other. I don't think they do. They're soo good being spies they're able to sell whatever alias they slip into, even if it involves stuff that are far from fun--such as making out with a partner who has too much tongue--as Brienne complained to Robb a few chapters ago. 
> 
> Their relationship spans both the professional and the personal. They like each other but no more than that, and I think the reason they've never entertained thoughts about the other sexually or even what-if is because of their mutual respect. Not to mention that Robb seems to go around, date-wise, while Brienne, hating how her relationship with Renly made her vulnerable, won't be thinking about having a relationship with another colleague. She's not closing her door to it, but she would much prefer another option.


	28. About A Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One of my early missions for the WCA was to infiltrate the Sons of Harpy to gather as much information as possible. To my knowledge, no one has gone as deep as I have. It’s a tight group but they are quick to turn against each other. I myself saw Daario Naharis in action. Remember the Maidenvault bombings? He planned that.”

About A Boy  
Jon rubbed his eyes as he gulped down his coffee. In his tired, bleary-eyed state, he didn’t realize that the steaming beverage would fry his tongue. It was halfway down his throat, incinerating him from the inside until it lodged in his stomach before he realized his mistake. He coughed, tears in his eyes. Brienne, who was sitting beside him, patted him heavily on the back while she offered him a glass of her orange juice.

It was seven a.m. in the morning, a criminally early hour to be at work, let alone actually working. Breakfast was provided by Catelyn’s mysterious associate, consisting of eggs, toast, cold cereal or those who were more inclined towards health and had a deathly fear of carbs, a bowl of fresh fruit that had raspberries and blueberries in them, with a touch of yogurt. 

Catelyn’s friend, a man with lank dark hair that hovered between brown and dirty blond with the first hints of gray and pale, gray eyes, refused to tell them his name, only that he was “No man.” When he spoke, he referred to himself as “A man” or “this one.” Jon was tempted to get fingerprints off him but Cat trusted him. His boss’ judgment was sound so, against his better judgment, he made an effort to be less suspicious.  
In spite of the craziness what with food on the table, beverages, laptops, papers, and the beginnings of a “Wildfyre Board” made up photos of those involved tacked on the corkboard and connected by red strings, the meeting was going as planned. Catelyn sat at the head of the table, sharp-eyed and brisk as ever though her face was lined with exhaustion and she was going through the information they had twice, three times, even, to be sure they had it right. No One stood leaning against the counter, listening intently. He would look at whoever spoke. Brienne sat at the other end, her bowl of fresh fruit almost empty. Robb had helped himself to toast and coffee. They had nothing much to report, being that they were cut off for an entire day and had to lay low. Meanwhile, thanks to the codes that continued downloading and unlocking encrypted files from the WCA, Jon and Catelyn were knowing more and more. 

Unfortunately.

Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose. In between concentrating on information the WCA had on Targaryen Industries and Viserys Targareyn, Boros Blount, Gregor Clegane and Mandon Moore, he was also in charge of finding through that digital quagmire details about the Lannisters, concentrating particularly on the twins Cersei and Jaime.  
Their earlier suspicion about a sexual relationship between them had proven right due to explicit, phone recordings. They had been compiled for the last four years, quite earlier than when Renly Baratheon’s mission began. Howland Reed may have erred in letting Wildfyre be weaponized but he kept an eye on the man behind it, Jaime. Perhaps the WCA director knew that at some point the government would need his help and rather than going about it by making a request or appealing to his patriotism, it became necessary to threaten him with information on him and his sister. It wasn’t the public Jaime feared, according to one of his conversations with Cersei. It was what Tywin would do to Cersei if he found out.

Cersei: You shouldn’t have left.  
Jaime: I could not bear to be associated with that man for what he did.  
Cersei: What about me?  
Jaime: I love you.  
Cersei: If you love me, you’d bear that struggle with me.  
Jaime: If I could change my name, forget I’m a Lannister—  
Cersei: You’ll turn away from me too?  
Jaime: No. Never.  
Cersei: I miss you, my brother.  
Jaime: Just say the word, Cersei. I’ll be there. I’ll fuck you until you forget everything else, what I’ve done, what’s happened. You’ll only know my cock.  
Cersei: Yes.  
Jaime: Tell me.  
Cersei: I love you. I love you. 

Jon wished he could block out the rest of the conversation he had to listen to. It was one of the many. He felt like disinfecting his entire person afterwards.  
He glanced at Brienne as she put away her bowl and returned to her seat. Though there was nothing amiss with her movements and she didn’t appear to be distracted, there was a haunted look in her eyes. He couldn’t describe it very well. When Renly vanished, Brienne had gone off in search of him so Jon did not know how she was during those days. She returned to the agency with her face blank and back to her usual self—brisk, quite awkward, alert and intent on the next mission.  
Brienne looked like she was going to cry any second. Her eyes were clear, brighter than ever, and there was no tell-tale tremor in her voice nor sensitivity to what they have been talking about so far—indicators of her inner turmoil. Yet, when she thought no one was watching, he saw her taking a deep breath, the corners of her mouth pursed downwards. As if she was fighting to keep herself from bursting into tears.  
Jon turned mentally back to the meeting. Cately was informing them on the latest developments regarding Jaime Lannister’s `kidnapping.’  
“Viserys and Tywin Lannister have hired mercenaries to find him,” she was saying. “Targaryen has hired the Second Sons and Lannister the Company of the Cat.”  
Robb frowned. “I haven’t heard of the Company of the Cat.”  
“The group is based in the Free Cities and rarely take on jobs outside of them,” No One said, joining the conversation for the first time. “They are secretive. They only work by referral. So if you’re aiming to hire them and you have no connection to anyone who had employed them previously, they will refuse to work with you. No matter how much money you’re offering.”

“Because they are very private, “Cately added, “there isn’t much to know about them. Uncertain loyalties. Unknown members. And another thing, Lannister and Loras Tyrell hired them.”  
Brienne frowned. “What would be Tyrell’s interest in Jaime?”  
“He is engaged to Cersei Lannister.”  
“Fucked in the ass,” Jon swore. “Catelyn, the Tyrells are richer than the Lannisters. Not to mention that Loras is President Olenna Tyrell’s grandson. They are no doubt channeling all efforts and funds to finding and recovering Jaime. What the hell are we going to do now?”  
“What’s the situation with Howland Reed?” Brienne asked.  
“He doesn’t know that Jaime has been taken,” No One answered, “yet.”  
“We’ve brought a ticking time bomb in our midst,” Robb declared, clearly unhappy. “The longer we have that bastard with us, the more dangerous things are with us. I believe none of us want to be sent to the Black Cells, primarily because we won’t last five minutes alive there with all the criminals rotting there thanks to us.”  
“If we send Jaime back to his family, we’ll never be able to access the Wildfyre because it will only be unlocked with his DNA. Tywin’s going to keep him under lock and key. If we send him back to Viserys that’s the last we’ll see of him alive,” Brienne said.  
“The Wildfyre is our priority,” Jon agreed. “And we need Jaime Lannister to destroy it.”  
“There’s something else,” Catelyn added. She looked at Jon. He nodded, understanding.  
“We still have no word about Sam.”  
“Fuck the Seven!” Brienne exploded. “Nothing?”  
“Only a voice message he left in my email,” Jon answered. “But it was sent to my private account. It said one word. Naharis.”  
“He also sent it Howland,” Catelyn said. “That’s why I had WCA agents with me when I arrived to arrest him. I didn’t know at first. Only that Daario had Sam kidnapped.”  
“Our former associate has been languishing in the Black Cells and refuses to speak,” Jon continued. “Thanks to your codes, we now know a helluva lot more even though Howland is still not being forthcoming.”  
“Tell us.” Robb said quietly.  
Jon glanced at No One. Catelyn nodded and said, “He knows too, Jon. I also had him investigate Howland.”  
“For starters, Daario Naharis was a general of the Sons of Harpy,” Jon said.  
Rob and Brienne cursed under their breaths. They needed no explanation. The Sons of Harpy was an extremist rebel group with origins in Mereen. Known for having a vast network of operatives, the size and identities which have never been known, the Sons of Harpy were successful in leading insurgencies across Essos. In spite of the tensions between Westeros and Essos, both sides wanted more than a shaky ceasefire that so far had lasted seventy years. The Sons of Harpy were determined to end this period of peace.  
In the last ten years, their network was believed to have expanded to Westeros, instilling dissent among the populace. The size and its members remain unknown. They have begun to lay the groundwork of turning the population of Westeros against peaceful alliances and diplomacy ties with Essos.  
“Do we know this for sure? This is in Howland’s files?” Brienne wanted to know. Her face was paler than usual though her cheeks were fever-pink.  
“We saw the information with our own eyes,” Catelyn told her.  
No One must have signalled her or something because she nodded again. Jon looked confused. What was the connection between his boss and this strange man?  
“I recognized him as soon as I saw his file photo,” No One told them. “One of my early missions for the WCA was to infiltrate the Sons of Harpy to gather as much information as possible. To my knowledge, no one has gone as deep as I have. It’s a tight group but they are quick to turn against each other. I myself saw Daario Naharis in action. Remember the Maidenvault bombings? He planned that.”  
“How did he make it through security checks?” Brienne asked.  
“Here’s another unpleasant fact. Brace yourselves. Howland recruited Daario. Got him pardoned for all his crimes during his involvement with the Harpys and started being Howland’s dog.”  
“We had a traitor in our mist and Howland knew but didn’t think to tell us,” Robb looked thoughtful. “To be fair, the old man might have a plan.”  
“Whatever plans he has, I leave it up to you to find out.”  
“We’re not done,” Jon said. “We also just found out that the Harpys are intent on building an arsenal of Wildfyre.”  
Brienne buried her face in her hands while Robb looked at the ceiling.  
“We have to get him out of here. I refuse to risk my safety and my life for that horrible excuse of a human being,” she said. “No one wants to die for a Lannister.”  
“All the more reason to get him out of here,” Robb said.  
In spite of Brienne’s protests, it became the stepping stone for the plan.


	29. The Short End of the Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb shot to his feet, sending his chair toppling back. Brienne quickly got between him and Jaime, who had his eye brows raised innocently. “What? That was a compliment. You should treat your dog better, Blue. A nice word or two never hurt, right, boy?”

The displeasure between the men was mutual. Robb cursed for agreeing to Brienne’s suggestion that she, Jon, No One and himself draw lots on who will take care of Jaime Lannister on different parts of the day. The shortest was in charge of him from waking up until noon, the next shift at noon and the early part of the afternoon, late afternoon until he slept and then somebody to keep watch over him while he dozed fitfully. Robb got the first morning shift, No One the second, Jon the latter afternoon and Brienne, scowling, got to keep watch over him starting tonight.

Jaime was far from happy too. It was no picnic being chained and kept in one position all day, much less having to be fed, having to be brought to the bathroom and only peeing the only time he was loose, somewhat, and, just as worse as being on his ass, being stuck indoors. His job at Targaryen Industries kept him in the office all day but he was working and didn’t notice time. 

And, why wasn’t Brienne the one solely in charge of him? She was not a sight for sore eyes but something about her made this torture bearable. It could be her eyes, it could be her perpetually red face. It could be that he’d never met anyone as ugly as her before. Or maybe how she looked ready to throttle him last night when she discovered what he’d done to her shirt. Jaime got a good look of her chest before that damned other guy cut off his view.

She was flat—she certainly didn’t have Cersei’s full, lush mounds with berry-tipped nipples. Brienne’s breasts were slight mounds covered with freckles, tipped with pale pink nipples. Their size—or lack thereof—were surprising considering she was a large woman everywhere. Since seeing her breasts, Jaime had been wondering what other parts of Brienne Tarth would surprise him. Wondered if she was as freckled. 

He hadn’t meant anything with last night’s kiss. Convinced more than ever that something was in his system that gave him that crazy dream and even crazier reaction to the blond beast, Jaime’s intention behind the kiss was to jolt her. Nice words and seduction wouldn’t make her free him. But if he were to shock her system like an electrical spark, she might attack him, he had thought, and got the idea that during their ensuing struggle he could steal the keys from her.

He hadn’t counted on how soft her lips felt. 

_Softer than Cersei’s._

Jaime stared dully at the plate of buttered toast Robb set before him, along with a cup of coffee. He sighed. Once again he was bound the chair, his arms pulled behind him. “Let’s get this over and done with,” Robb said brusquely, plunking down on the seat next to Jaime and beginning to cut up the toast.

“Feeding me, Stark? How fucking romantic but I don’t swing that way,” Jaime said, earning a glare from the agent.

“I wouldn’t provoke him and start playing nice if I were you,” Brienne said, entering the kitchen. She had changed out of that odd floral blouse that was certainly not her style thought Jaime knew little of her. Now she was dressed in a black, long-sleeved t-shirt and gray track pants. Her blond hair hung limply, framing her broad cheeks. She didn’t look any better but white was definitely not her color and florals clearly not her prints.   
As she spoke, she went to the fridge, poked around and when she straightened up, held a bottle containing an icky-looking green drink. Seven Hells, the giant is a health freak, Jaime thought. Another surprise. Agent Tarth was a protein-drink-swilling, probably even tofu-worshipping weirdo. 

“Oh, let him do whatever he wants,” Robb said, stabbing a fork into the toast and holding it out to Jaime. “I need a workout.”

Brienne poured the green drink into a glass. Jaime looked away from her and cocked an eyebrow at Robb. “I can fucking feed myself.” 

“Sure you can, Lannister,” Brienne said, as if addressing a five-year-old proud of his ridiculous finger-painting.

“Eat the fucking toast, damn you,” Robb growled, jabbing the fork in the air towards Jaime’s face.

“Aren’t you supposed to treat your prisoner civilly? What makes you think threats will help me eat?” 

“Seven Hells, Lannister, you make it difficult to not want to kill you.” Brienne said, taking a sip of the disgusting green thing. Jaime made a face.  
“What the hell’s that? Why would you drink something that looks like that without a knife to your throat?”

Robb sighed loudly, rolled his eyes and dropped the fork and the toast back on the plate. “This is pointless. I say let’s just knock this shit out with Essence of Nightshade and do real spy work. I’m not a fucking babysitter.”

“No, you’re not,” Jaime agreed. “However, I can totally see you in a naughty maid’s uniform. You should have it made extra frilly to go with your hair.”

Robb shot to his feet, sending his chair toppling back. Brienne quickly got between him and Jaime, who had his eyesbrows raised innocently. “What? That was a compliment. You should treat your dog better, Blue. A nice word or two never hurt, right, boy?”

“Robb!” Brienne exclaimed, planting her huge hands on his chest as Robb made to lunge toward Jaime. Her hip bumped Jaime’s shoulder, jostling him, his handcuffs rattling. “Damn it, don’t let him get to you. That’s what he wants.”

“Maybe he needs someone to shove his teeth down his throat,” Robb snarled but he was not struggling against Brienne. 

“Nothing so effortful,” Jaime said loftily. Robb would have moved toward him again if not for Brienne still standing between them.

“I’ll take over this morning and you cover my shift later. He’s a bit easier to deal with asleep,” Brienne said. “Okay, Robb?”

Jaime frowned. Gone was the hard urgency in Brienne’s tone. Now she spoke softly, almost huskily. As if she and Robb were the only two people in the room. 

“But what’s to stop him from smothering me with a pillow while I sleep tonight?” He said, pretending to whine.

This time, Brienne turned to him. She peered at him as if he were a life-form lower than a parasite. “What makes you think you’ll make it through tonight if you don’t shut the fuck up?”

He sounded hurt. “And here I thought you needed me.”

“Brienne—“ Robb warned.

“No, Robb. Go. I’ll take care of this. _Go._ ”

Jaime smirked as Robb stomped off, his heavy boots making the floors shudder. Brienne righted the chair, sat down and crossed her arms as she looked at him with scorn. Her face was the color of overripe tomato, her eyes bright with her temper.

“I only have so much control from reaching over and snapping your neck,” she told him.

“Words are wind,” he said.

“Me too. I can come at you so fast you won’t even know you’re dead.” Brienne picked up the fork, still with the toast attached and shoved it toward him. “Eat.”

“All these carbs and sitting around will make me fat. What if I don’t fit through doors after this?”

“We can always chop you up in pieces. Pick out the rubbish from something that has some worth. Shouldn’t be too hard.” 

“Ouch.”

"There's little your cock can do. But maybe your teeth."

"You are vicious," Jaime said sarcastically. 

“Eat the fucking toast, Lannister.”

“I will,” he said, enjoying their play. Gods, who knew it would be such fun riling her up? She was as red as his house color now. Smoke would be coming out of her ears next. “But I’d like one thing in return.”

“You’re not in any position to make deals, Lannister.”

“I’ll eat complex carbs if you call me by name.”

“How about you get to keep your life if you do what I fucking want.”

He smiled, a wide, toothy grin that made Brienne rue how the pain of braces did nothing for her crooked teeth. His golden hair was a greasy rumple, his eyes were heavy-lidded and shadowed, his stubble blond mixed with gray but even like this, with that smile, Jaime belonged to a toothpaste ad. 

“That’s what you want? For me to eat?” He lowered his voice, his eyes looking very green as they regarded her.

Brienne blushed. “Yes, damn you. _Eat.”_

“I’ll eat if you call me Jaime.”

“I’ll have you crying for your mother if you don’t eat.”

Brienne’s eyes widened in shock while the mirth fled from Jaime’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry—please, I did not—“

“But you did.”

“I wasn’t thinking—“

“You weren’t.”

“Fuck me, won’t you let me finish?”

“If I fuck you, Blue, trust me, you wouldn’t want me to finish. Ever had a lion between your legs? It's a great pity you've chose to spread them for that dog.” His words were biting. He had been on the verge of sleeping last night when the high-pitched squeaks of the mattress roused him. Despite sleep pressing his eyes closed, he had gotten hard again when he imagined Brienne naked, covered in freckles. 

“You’re disgusting.”

“What was that? Fuck, are we in a schoolyard or something? Surely you have something better. Big, towering lumberjack like you definitely has something a lot better to say”

Her eyes bored hard into his. 

“You have your sister’s cunt, Lannister. Use it. Fuck it until she can’t stand.”

Jaime jerked as if she’d struck him. “Gods damn you, Tarth. I’m not a monster.”

“Yes you are.”

“Because I fucked my sister? You should see her cunt.”

“Because you fucked with us by weaponizing Widlfyre! Who the hell cares about her cunt?”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you I had orders!”

“You could have refused.”

“And what? Have it smeared on the tabloids that the Lannister twins are fucking each other? What of my son? What do you think will happen to him if that news leaks out?”

“You Lannisters,” Brienne spat, throwing the fork down the plate with such force it split in the middle. “You Lannisters prattle on and on about not caring for the opinions of sheep when you actually do, else you would have claimed your sister and your son publicly instead of kissing Targaryen ass. You’ll fuck your sister but you won’t ever stand with her.”

“Fuck you. You know nothing. Don’t you speak of my sister that way.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“The minute you start thinking about killing me you’re dead.” 

“Big words.”

“Oh, yes, Lannister. Words are wind, you say? Words are knives. They come at you from nowhere and find you and stab you right where it hurts. And you die remembering only the slow, agonizing pain and nothing else. You want me to prove it?”

“I’d much rather eat.”

“You’re all talk. Some lion you are.”

“Don’t you think for the moment I’m going easy on you?”

“You? No. You take me for an idiot?”

“Your words will not reach me, Blue.”

“Well, let’s try this on for size. How about the news that your sister is engaged to Loras Tyrell?” 

Jaime paled.

Smug, Brienne continued, “And that she gave up your son for adoption? As soon as he was born?”


	30. Let Me Remind You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Once I’m off these chains, we’re taking this outside to see who hurts who.”  
> “Such a brave man,” she mocked softly.  
> “You have no idea what I am willing to do, Agent Tarth.” He sat back, tossed his head back and ordered haughtily, glancing briefly at the plate and at her, “Get that away from me and make yourself scarce. I’ve no need for further torture seeing your ugly face.”
> 
> SENSITIVE SCENE AND TOPIC AHEAD. PLEASE BE REMINDED THAT WHATEVER OPINIONS STATED HERE ARE THE CHARACTERS' AND NOT THE AUTHOR'S. THIS IS A WORK OF (FAN)FICTION.

In the short time she had known Jaime Lannister, Brienne was sure of several things: one, he had an ego that could rival the size of Winterfell, the icy northern region of Westeros that had a bigger land mass than the entire country; two, he was blessed with three things most people could only dream about—looks, brains and money, and had them in infinite amounts because life was just like that, it gave too much to jackasses and was tight-fisted towards mortals; three, he had a sick relationship with his sister, one that she believed he knew to be wrong but at the same, he also knew it was right. You didn’t remain faithful if there was no love and Jaime surely had this for his beautiful, golden mirror image. 

Lastly, even when tired, looking and beginning to stink in his pits, bound by chains, Jaime still had a way of looking at you that would send your knees knocking together. It was a look Brienne knew very well—how many criminals had looked at her like that? But she bested them all, besting them with her mind and her body. It took more than a deadly stare to get Brienne Tarth trembling at the slightest.

She met his dangerous stare, staying seated next to him. There was no doubt that if he were free, he would hit her. He would if he could—but she was faster and had training. He might not know how to throw a punch but he would make her bleed until the Stranger came for her.

“Careful,” he said, his voice very soft. “You’re on dangerous ground.”

“Maybe you should try to remember that,” she answered.

“Lies. That’s what they are.”

Brienne rose, got the newspaper Jon had been reading when he had arrived earlier with her clothes, and returned to the kitchen. She tossed it in front of Jaime, the headline staring up at him: _Cersei Lannister And Loras Tyrell Engaged._

Jaime stared at it as if was a viper.

“They’ve hired mercenaries to look for you,” Brienne said. “But something tells me this isn’t kindness on the Tyrells. What are you willing to bet if I say that it’s one of the conditions you sister has demanded before she marries him?” When Jaime closed his eyes and took a deep breath, she nodded to herself. “She does love you.”

She hoped she didn’t sound as broken as she suddenly felt. She could care less about Jaime. That kiss was nothing. What makes him different from the others who tried? Only Renly, she thought, feeling that familiar twist in her gut. Renly was the only one who had kissed her for who she was.

“Of course she does,” Jaime snapped. “We belong together. We came to this world together. And we will die together.”

“Wow,” Brienne said coolly. “And here I thought you fucked each other because you Lannisters only trust other Lannisters. Who knew there’s such devotion between you?”

“Fuck you.”

Gods blast it but it was nice to turn the tables on him for once. Jaime looked mad enough to kill her. “As you’ve been hinting at from the moment we met, Jaime. All those questions about who I fuck, if it’s Robb or whoever.” Brienne shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “If I knew any better, it’s like you’re panting to get in line.”

“Shut up.”

“I do know I represent a challenge to some men. Hells, I know I’m ugly. But there will always be a guy who wants to climb over Big Brienne and see if she has a cunt, if she will take his cock. That sounds a lot like you—“

Jaime growled and, maybe forgetting he was in chains or regardless of them, he dove toward her. It was surprise that almost had Brienne reeling back, almost, but it was training that had her hold her ground. His face twisting in frustration, he hissed, “Once I’m off these chains, we’re taking this outside to see who hurts who.”

“Such a brave man,” she mocked softly.

“You have no idea what I am willing to do, Agent Tarth.” He sat back, tossed his head back and ordered haughtily, glancing briefly at the plate and at her, “Get that away from me and make yourself scarce. I’ve no need for further torture seeing your ugly face.”

“Trust me, Lannister, if only I could remove you from the face of this earth, I would,” Brienne shot back, struggling to be cool as she stood to remove the plate. But her hands were shaking and she almost dropped it. Jaime snorted and she glared at him but it was done. He knew he’d gotten to her. 

Not one to walk away from a fight with her head down, Brienne’s next course of action was not only surprising but completely out of character. She slammed the plate down, almost splitting the china in two at the force and, her full lips in an ugly twist of anger and hate, swooped down to Jaime and took his mouth in a hard, rough kiss.

He grunted at the forceful press of her mouth to his, pushing against her, the chains scraping at the wooden chair, so she pushed against him, her large hand gripping his jaw so tightly it would leave it bruised and sore for days. His lips were chapped, no more than hers, his tongue tasted dry from sleep and lingering dark dreams. She tilted his head, ignoring how he insisted on keeping it at an angle he preferred. He wasn’t running the show. Oh no. This was her kiss and he was going to have to take it, like it or not. Her wide chest pinned him to the chair. Years of pain had made her immune to the chains digging against her skin, her breasts. 

She should stop. Gods, she wanted to do and it was the right thing but as she began pulling away, he snapped his head toward her, as if to hurt her.

He pulled her lower lip between his teeth and sucked.

Hard.

There was no stopping the moan pulled from her throat. Nor the warmth spreading in her, like a languid sea hitting the shore and flaring at the sand. Her breath hitched, her hand on his face dropped to his chest. Warm, ripped muscles met her palm.

And his frantic heartbeat. Almost an echo of hers but she couldn’t tell whose was faster.

Her hand lowered, feeling the cool ridges of the chains.

 _“No,”_ she whispered against his mouth.

 _“Yes,”_ he hissed, licking at her lips as if they were a sweet treat.

She shook her head and pulled away.

Bright green eyes stared at her.

She had no idea how they looked at each other. She should get off—at some point, she had ended up straddling his lap. In spite of the shield of their clothes, they were useless from their bodies’ response—his hard length rearing and pushing against his pants, towards her, her cunt feeling softer, warmer. Sweat dotted her forehead, his cheeks flushed. They were both breathing hard, the sounds blaring in the silence of the room. Their breaths touched the other’s lips, swollen, red, tingling, almost-kisses. 

Jaime moved towards her and Brienne met him. This time, when their lips met, it was in a gentle, careful, almost shy caress of each other. She was more hesitant, like a panicked, little animal. As Jaime rubbed his lips against her half-parted mouth, he whispered, “None of that. Hold me. . .my face. Like you did before.”

His eyes were half-closed as he spoke. When her hand slowly, hesitantly, fell on his cheek, he opened them and looked at her. His eyes were warm, and the small smile on his lips had his dimples deepening in his cheeks. “Such eyes,” he whispered, almost talking to himself. “Renly told me what you looked like. Blue eyes, he said. Unlike anything you’ve seen before. He was right. There are no words to describe them fully.”

She bit her lip. On nights when she and Renly didn’t have missions, they would lay in bed and just hold each other. He was the first to tell her that he had not seen anything like her eyes. “Blue,” he said, “so true but not enough to describe them, Brienne. So blue.”

Brienne had to fight to keep her hand on the spot when he turned his head abruptly and kissed her palm. Then started licking it. Unconsciously, she started squirming against him as he alternated with little butterfly kisses and licks on her palm, groaning—the hand that had shot and killed many. But they deserved it, she thought. Yet she knew that it wasn’t just their lives that saw their end in their hands. Wives. Lovers. Mothers. _Children._

She started moving her hand away but Jaime, at that moment, took one of her long fingers between his lips and drew it deep in his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, winking at her.

“Jaime. . .” she started to moan.

“ _Yes._ You taste like butter and metal,” he told her. 

She pulled her hand away. She started to rise from his hard thighs when he pinned her on the spot with his stare. She lowered her eyes to her lap, and given where she was, she saw his lap as well. His pants were loose but there was a definite bulge there.

“This isn’t right,” she said, finally mustering the courage to look at him before rising and swinging a long leg over so she may stand. “I apologize. It will not happen again.”

“You’re right,” he agreed as she started unlocking his chains. Then she pulled him to his feet, standing behind him. She pressed a hand at the middle of his back and urged him to head back to the living room. “I also apologize. . .for last night.”

She nodded and put him back in his chair. She bound him again. Jaime sat back and watched her work.

“I know Cersei is being forced to marry that Tyrell kid. This sounds like Tywin's work,” Jaime said softly. “She’ll find a way out of it. I know my sister.”

“You didn’t know what she did to your child.”

It hurt what they were talking about when it shouldn’t. Hells, she had kissed him to punish him! And why was she reminding him of how hateful his sister was? Why did she care?

“I don’t believe you. She told me she loves him. That he looks just like me.”

“How can you not demand over these years for one photo of that child, Jaime?” Brienne wanted to know. Finished, she pushed the coffee table back and sat on it. “She’s been lying to you and yet. . .you don’t seem angry.”

“Angry is just one of the things I’m feeling right now. I’d tell you all but you’ll explode.”

When Brienne blushed, understanding, Jaime smirked. “See? Though I’d like to see you detonate. You’re tough as nails. Are you a simpering maiden in bed or a wildcat? Something tells me you give men one hell of a ride. Do you make them beg? Or is it you?”

She frowned. “Are we back to that subject?”

“What’s going on between you and Stark? Did you fuck him last night?”

“What is it that you and your sister have that you’re not even angry she’s deceived you?”

Jaime looked away from her. “She must have her reasons.”

“She had abortions while you were in college.” Brienne bit her lip as he turned back to her, shocked.

“Not until I hear it from her. What’s being done to get me back, Blue?” 

It was clearly a signal that what had happened in the last five minutes was forgotten, dead and buried. Brienne would shake herself from the haze of lust that had clogged up her brain but it seeped deeply in her. _I should switch back with Robb. He'll kill me but this is insane. This is what happens when you haven't fucked for so long._

“It’s not so easy. We return you to Targaryen and what makes you think he’ll keep you alive? He’s having mercenaries looking for you. If we return you to your family, you certainly won’t be setting foot in Targaryen Industries again.”

“It was a wrong move to take me.”

She was beginning to agree. 

“Not that it hasn’t been fun,” he continued, enjoying hr discomfort as her frustrated flush betrayed her. “I’ve never been to the Black Cells. I think these silver chains bring out my eyes. I can barely feel my ass. And I have to tell you how enjoyable it is listening to you and that Stark fuck like rabbits. You should oil the bed springs, Blue. Some of us want to sleep at night.”

“We’re not—“

“Please. No more lies. You think to break me by telling me about my sister’s engagement. I tell you, she has a plan. And then you dared lie about how she gave up our child and that she willingly did those abominations towards our other children. Cersei and I belong together, get that through your thick skull. She will never lie to me. _She_ loves me. And _I_ love her.”

“You’ve made that very clear.”

“Good. Then no more of your nonsense kissing. I thought you had more practice. Stark isn’t teaching you anything at all.”

When Brienne gasped, Jaime huffed. “What? Are you going to hit me now? Then do so. Curse me, don’t kiss me. I’ve no need for your inept kisses. No matter what my cock says, you’re not Cersei. As far as it' s concerned, you’re just a hole for sticking it in but I’ll have to close my eyes to do it. That might not even be enough. _You’re nothing like Cersei and there’s nothing about you I like.”_

He wasn’t going to cut her down and she would kill herself first before he saw the damage he’d done. Though every cell in her body yelled at her to beat him bloody, Brienne turn and walked away. 

Jaime wanted to laugh. Some agent she was. Her eyes had looked dangerously watery, clear sapphire mirrors as he hurled one insult after another with her. He would savor the victory but the bile was thick on his tongue.


	31. Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chains dragged at him so he couldn’t move fast, he couldn’t move at all. Cersei, her eyes bright and her smile wide in maniacal delight, still so heartbreakingly beautiful, held Brienne. She was naked, wore only her astonishing blue eyes and her pale, freckled skin. Jaime could only watch in horror as Cersei carved figures and symbols on her skin with a dagger, laughing every time blood dripped and joined the growing pool at their feet. A gag muffled Brienne’s screams.

Three days passed since their kiss and verbal standoff in the kitchen that left each more wounded than they would like to admit. Three days that felt too long in spite of changes that could, and should, distract Jaime—from being allowed out in the rooftop at twilight, handcuffed but at least he was filling his lungs with actual air than from central air conditioning and the last vestiges of the sun before it dropped behind dark clouds, to being allowed to move inside what appeared to be a tailoring shop, but only within a small radius—the chains kept him from the kitchen and whoever guarded him made sure to keep the keys there rather than on their person—and realizing a day after he had all but put a knife through Brienne Tarth that he hadn’t seen nor heard her, or even that Stark. There was still the guy with the piercing gray eyes who always referred to himself in the third person and another one who looked a little familiar though Jaime couldn’t place where he saw the man from before. Grim-faced, with a mop of curly dark hair and not much of a talker, he would stack his legs on the coffee table and read a book during his watch on Jaime. Every now and then his phone would ring and he picked it up but he always stepped out—whatever and whoever he talked to, it was obvious he was the subject of conversation.

These changes helped little in distracting Jaime. With no one to torture and no blue eyes to warn him, the days and nights have been harder than he thought. 

When he slept—now on the couch but still handcuffed, along with his ankles—he would first dream of Cersei. The dreams varied. They ranged from a memory of the two of them as children, the sun golden on their heads as they ran to the beach, giggling, their mother Joanna laughing after them, to dark, violent dreams too horrible to remember but always woke him violently, his shirt matted to his heavily-sweating chest and his breathing rapid and shallow. He remembered a loss so great it was like claws had dug out his heart as he slept and left him bleeding to death. 

The sickest dream he’d had involved Cersei and Brienne. Chains dragged at him so he couldn’t move fast, he couldn’t move at all. Cersei, her eyes bright and her smile wide in maniacal delight, still so heartbreakingly beautiful, held Brienne. She was naked, wore only her astonishing blue eyes and her pale, freckled skin. Jaime could only watch in horror as Cersei carved figures and symbols on her skin with a dagger, laughing every time blood dripped and joined the growing pool at their feet. A gag muffled Brienne’s screams.

“See, here, brother,” Cersei said, circling the tip of the dagger on Brienne’s pink nipple. “Watch what I’ll do.”

“No. Don’t hurt her, Cersei. She has nothing to do with us. It’s you, it’s always you for me,” he pleaded as Cersei jabbed the knife around her breasts, just enough to make Brienne shake but without the force to break through her skin. 

“You lie. I loved you.”

And then, smiling sweetly, insanely, she plunged the dagger to Brienne’s chest. Thrilled at Jaime’s shout, she laughed and started stabbing Brienne repeatedly, blood spraying the air before a red wave exploded from the opened cavity and Jaime awakened, gasping, feeling as if he had been stabbed himself. The surrounding darkness didn’t help and especially not Brienne’s absence. 

The curly-haired guy who was keeping watch over him now looked up from the book he was reading when Jaime asked where she was. It was the fourth morning.

“Saving your ass,” he answered, sounding bored as he flipped a page.

“Agent Stark too?”

“He goes where she goes. They’re partners. Look, Lannister, I shouldn’t be talking to you. Just go around and keep yourself busy. Don’t worry if you think I can’t stop you if you try to escape. Because I will.” 

“You’re not as fun as Agent Tarth,” Jaime grumbled.

“Thank you. I shouldn’t be.”

“You know, I could really watch some TV.”

“What are you, twelve? Go bother the dust balls, Lannister. I’m reading.” 

“This isn’t all fun for me either. Look, Blue—Agent Tarth mentioned some things. That my sister. . .” Jaime steeled himself for judgment from the other man. “She said my Cersei gave up our son for adoption. Is it true?”

Surprise widened the man’s eyes, followed by disapproval and a shake of his head. Sighing, he put his book away. “Seven Hells. Brienne shouldn’t have done that.”

Jaime felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “So it’s true.”

“Yes.”

“Do you. . .is he. . .?”

Jaime hated pity. He was a Lannister, despite being disowned. Right now he was at the receiving end of a round, cow-eyed look.   
Anything that could have been spoke between them was cut off by the sound of tires scraping across the pavement. Jaime turned while the other man whipped out his gun and aimed it at the door. But it suddenly slammed open. The gun was cocked, ready to fire, when Robb Stark staggered to inside, scratched, bruised, blood on his torn clothes and with a large bundle limp in his arms.

Jaime’s heart stilled when he glimpsed familiar pale, blond hair. 

“Jon, get the kitchen ready. Brienne’s been hurt. Jaqen needs medical attention too but he can walk. Get the supplies,” Robb ordered over his shoulder, carrying Brienne past Jaime. She was moaning. Jaime started to go after her when there was another commotion at the door.   
Jaqen, it turned out, was one of Jaime’s guards. A woman who looked to be in her fifties with auburn hair and blue eyes kept him propped up, though he was leaning heavily against her petite frame. Her eyes widened when she saw Jaime on his feet.

“What the hell is he doing standing up?” She demanded, and Jaime saw in her face that it not for the man dependent on her at the moment, she would wrap him up in chains.

“Relax, Cat, he won’t be going anywhere,” the man, who had refused to tell Jaime his name when he had asked it before, answered. There was a grotesque slash across his forehead. His brown hair looked wet and clumpy until the woman—Cat—half-steered and half-dragged him towards the light. Jaime froze when he realized it was blood in his hair. 

“Let me help,” Jaime told Jon, who was pulling out a long leather case from under the couch. He shook at his handcuffs and the chains hooked on the wall that limited his radius. “I want to help.”

“Not now, Lannister. Save your altruism for some blind, deaf, dumb idiot,” Jon snapped, snatching up a black medical bag and kicking the case back under the couch. He strode to the front, checked that the door was locked and joined the others in the kitchen. He didn’t notice the wet trail of blood on the floor but Jaime did. 

He tore his eyes away from it and went to the kitchen as close as he could. It was pandemonium.

Cat was yelling at Robb that Brienne needed to be brought to the hospital, while he yelled back, just as loudly, that there was no way they could explain her injuries as having fallen down the stairs. “She’s shot, she’s been stabbed and who knows what else. We’re going to save her here,” he declared. He held Brienne in his arms, who was biting on a rag while Jon poured disinfectant on a wound somewhere on her middle. She jacknifed as if to throw Robb off her, groaning, her back bowing upwards.

“Hold her down, damn it,” Jon ordered. “And stop shouting, both of you. Cat, go clean No One—Jaqen’s cut. It looks bad.”

As he spoke, he stepped away a bit from Brienne and that was when Jaime saw it—the hilt of a dagger buried in her left side.   
Just like his dream.

Where the hell did they come from?

And why the hell were the others walking and fine while Brienne was on the dining table bleeding away? 

“You’re not going to get anything right done if this keeps up,” Jaime announced. “Cat and that character should be elsewhere. And you two girls can’t keep her down when you pull out that knife. It will hurt beyond Seven Hells. Unchain me. I can help.”

“Shut up, Lannister. Get back to your chair,” Robb ordered.

“You get me out of these and she’ll be saved,” Jaime growled back. “Have any of you had medical training?”

“He really does believe us to be idiots,” Jon swore, glaring at him.

“I’m a certified first responder and a scientist. I know how and why things work better than you do. Get me off these chains and I’ll help you save her.”

“N-No.”

The weak but sure protest came from Brienne. She had spat out the rag from her mouth. Watery blue eyes looked at him.

“Don’t trust him.”

It was weak whisper now but it knocked the wind off him. 

“He’s a fucking PhD, not MD,” she breathed out before her eyes closed.

“Seven Hells!” Robb roared. He shook her roughly and her eyes fluttered open. “Brienne, stay awake! Get the knife off her!”   
“I can’t just do that, you fool,” Jon shot back. “She’ll surely die.” 

“You keep bickering like pathetic schoolchildren and she will die,” Cat told them. She glanced at Jaime, her jaw tight. “Get him off his chains.”  
“Mom—“ Robb protested, startling Jaime.

“No,” Jon hissed.

“He won’t get away,” Jaqen said, nodding. “Unchain him.”

Brienne was shaking her head weakly as Robb released her and lay her gently on the table. He kissed her on the forehead. Jaime felt his hackles rise as he watched Robb put a hand on her cheek before he pulled out a key from his pocket. 

“Mom, get your gun.”

“There’s no need for that. I won’t leave. You have my word.”

Jaime’s expression was bland as Robb unlocked his handcuffs. He had to fight the urge to run to Brienne, who was making wet, wheezing sounds. The cuffs fell to the floor and Jaime rubbed his wrists, coaxing some feeling back to their numbness. Then he entered the kitchen.

“Clear the room. Jon, you’re going to help me,” Jaime said, striding toward the table. Brienne looked up at him, pale and gasping. She looked worse than he thought. There was a ugly, huge bruise on her cheek, her throat was red and marked with what appeared to be a rope pattern. Her shirt, torn open, showed scratches and more bruises on her chest. The dagger buried in her rose with every breath she struggled to make.

Her eyes were very blue but robbed of their familiar light.

“Get out,” Jaime told Robb, who continued to hover by the door. He glanced at Cat and Jaqen and then back at the door. 

Once the room was empty except for him, Jon, and the agent bleeding her life out on the table and towards the floor, plopping heavily, he turned back to Brienne.

“Like it or not, Blue, I’m going to save your life. But only if you don’t die. Don’t you fucking die on me. Swear it. Or is this how you want to die? On a blasted dining table?”

“Seven Hells,” Jon muttered. “Can’t you just get to work, Lannister? Fuck.”

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t trust you.”

“Shouldn’t have thought of asking being you’re an oathbreaker. Swearing to keep my secret only for it to leak out—“

“I—I—I didn’t! _You idiot—_ “

“Then do try to not break this one oath I demand of you.”

“Fuck –Fuck you. Alright.” Brienne was gasping. “I swear to not die and let you save me.”

“Well done, Blue. Now get ready to scream as loudly as you want. This is going to hurt.”

And she did.


	32. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s our life, Lannister. One we all chose. That each day may be our last, every mission the ultimate end. That for little shits like you we are to give up our lives.

Hours later, Jaime and Jon emerged from the kitchen. Each looked more tired and rumpled than the other. The whites of Jon’s eyes were red and he looked pale. He shuffled on the floor, unlike his usual, springy strides. Jaime, whose gray t-shirt was mapped with blood, appeared to have trouble remaining on his feet too. The stubble that had been growing on his face for almost a week was now a beard, dark blond tinged with silver. 

Despite Jaime’s body not being in tip-top shape from being stiff and kept in the same position for days, as soon as his eyes landed on Robb hunched on the chair he used to sit on, he snarled and grabbed the younger man by the collar of his shirt and tossed him on the floor. Catelyn, who stood guard by the door, reached for her gun and aimed it at Jaime, who ignored it as he stormed towards Robb.

“What the fuck happened? She almost died!” Jaime raged, his fists curled tight as he stood over the prone form of Robb Stark. 

“Get back, Lannister, or I’ll shoot,” Catelyn warned, cocking the short firearm.

He glanced at her sharply. “You think I’m afraid of you? I’m a Lannister, you fool. You can empty that shitty little thing in me and I’ll still make your boy bleed.” And sure enough, his sneakered foot landed perfectly on Robb’s ribs, who was also tired and weak and thus unable to roll away or protect himself. “Explain yourself!”

“Lannister—“Catelyn growled but Robb shook his head.

“We made a mistake,” Robb said.

“A mistake! There’s four of you and only one of you who was almost _taken_ by the Stranger!”

Jon, who had stepped back when Jaime shoved at Robb, now put a hand on his shoulder. Startled, Jaime shook him off. Jon, unfazed, said, “Every mission is different.”

“Yeah? What if Blue— _Brienne_ died, huh? What would you call it? Unfortunate?” Jaime demanded.

“There were more of them than we thought. We gathered all the intel we could before we went,” Robb started to say but Jaime silenced him with another murderous look.

“All you’ve done since you’ve taken me is shit and fuck up and worse,” Jaime said. “Renly Baratheon gave me his word I could trust Brienne and I’ve done that. I’m still doing that and the thanks I get is getting chained up and sent to the Black Cells as if I’m a terrorist, not to mention my privacy violated again and again. You’ve done nothing to get me back to either Targaryen Industries or my family—“

Robb, finally waking up from cracking his head on the floor, glared at Jaime. “We’re not the ones who weaponized Wildfyre. If you hadn’t—“  
“I was under orders by that fucking Howland Reed! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“This discussion can be tabled for another time,” Catelyn declared, pushing her gun back in her ankle holster before getting between Robb and Jaime. “We’re all tired. What will all this yelling to do but have us end up actually killing each other?” When Robb started, she looked at him swiftly. 

“Another time, I said. You, Lannister,” she seethed, turning back to Jaime, “return to your chains.”

Jaime bristled.“I saved your agent’s life. The least you could do is let me move freely.”

“I’ll keep watch over him,” announced Jaqen, striding out from one of the bedrooms. His forehead was bandaged and he was walking with a slight limp. His clothes were clean now though there was still the tell-tale scent of disinfectant and blood on him. He nodded at Catelyn. “You know I won’t let him escape.”

Catelyn looked like she wanted to shoot him if not for his obvious injuries. Jon, who had sunk on a chair by the wall, said quietly, “Brienne needs to be moved soon. It won’t do for her to be on that table. If we can’t get her clean yet, at least she has to be comfortable.”

“I’m doing it,” Jaime and Robb said at the same time. The two men glared at each other. Jaime cocked an eyebrow as Robb shakily got to his feet.

“She doesn’t trust you, Lannister.” 

“Well, too bad for her, she’s unconscious and can’t do anything about it,” Jaime said and turned on his heel to go back to the kitchen.

“Hell,” Robb muttered and started to go after him but Jaqen, moving, put a hand on his chest.

“Let him. You’re hurt. You might drop her. Those screams. . .she needs every minute of rest to recover.”

Jaime stared at Brienne fast asleep on the kitchen table. The bruise on her cheek was darker and there were still too many cuts and bruises on her chest. The stab on her side had been sewn shut. It had looked deep but when it was pulled out, the blade was short and had not done too much damage, despite the blood. It was now bandaged, with a small spot of blood. A sheet covered her breasts, preserving her modesty. 

He thought about removing her caked-dirt pants first then decided to just do it when she had more privacy. Summoning what was little left of his energy reserves, he scooped her up by her back, his arm going behind her shoulders, while the other tucked behind her legs. A soft sigh escaped Brienne’s pale lips. He quickly peeled her bandage back to check if her wound had opened. The stitches were still in place. Care, a lot of it, as if he were handling the rarest glass, was needed to move her.

He did it before he knew what he was doing. He kissed her lips. In spite of her grayish pallor, they were warm. Soft. One more, this time licking at her parted lips slightly. He tasted smoke. And something that was probably gunpowder. He thumbed at her unmarred cheek. She remained still.

A flash of disconcertion went through him as he once again compared her lips to another and, frowning, resolute, he picked her up from the table, dropping bandages and other empty plastic bottles of disinfectant on the floor.

She stirred and he shushed her, gently, with another kiss, this time on her forehead.

Brienne Tarth was a big woman and as Jaime staggered under her weight, heavy and built very solidly. Where he expected flesh to yield, he found muscles. He heaved her up higher in his arms, closer to his chest, bringing her heart right to his. As Jaime took the first step out of the kitchen, and another, then next, until they were out, he discovered that her heartbeat was too soft, too gentle. 

Robb went to them but skidded to a halt at Jaime’s warning look. Jaqen pointed to a door, the room that Brienne had disappeared into the first night. Where Robb had apparently been waiting. Jaime glared in distaste at the bed waiting for them, not wanting to put Brienne on sheets soiled by sex, her having sex with another man. But there was no choice. With his arms and legs slowly going numb and his heart going on overdrive due to exhaustion and this final exertion, he laid her on the bed.

Her boots were heavy and muddy. Tried as he did to be gentle, there was no way of removing them without giving them a hard yank. Brienne slept on, still unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. Jaime put her boots against the wall by the door.

A lock of dirt-crusted blond hair fell across her forehead, like a gash. With a tenderness he couldn’t remember ever lacing anything he had done, even with Cersei, he brushed it away. 

“She needs to get cleaned up.”

It was Catelyn Stark who had spoken. Jaime glanced at her, noted the basin she held and nodded at the floor. “Leave it.”

“I may be her director but I’m her friend. She wouldn’t want a stranger doing this to her.”

“I don’t believe for a second she thought any of her so-called friends would put her in danger.”

He heard her move and when he looked, she was standing next to him. He couldn’t tell if she was hurt but if she was, her injuries were minimal. There was a faint stench of dirt and shit on her, making Jaime wonder again what the hell she had put Brienne through.

“It’s our life, Lannister. One we all chose. That each day may be our last, every mission the ultimate end. That for little shits like you we are to give up our lives.” Despite what she lacked in size, there was no missing the fact that she was a formidable woman, despite being dirty and the basin she held. “She saved yours tonight. I suppose this is the least you could do.”

She dropped the basin with force and Jaime almost yelled at her for she might wake up Brienne but in spite of her heavy hand, not a single drop of water spilled to the floor. Jaime watched her leave and shut the door behind her. 

He turned back to Brienne, who was still sound asleep. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, Blue. You’re beginning to reek.”

He could have sworn Brienne frowned and grunted, “Fuck you,” but her voice was too soft, too weak. He brushed his lips against hers again, lazily, lightly, and when he pulled back, was gratified that the tight expression on her face was gone. 

He unzipped her pants. 

 

With Jaime keeping watch over Brienne, in spite of Robb’s protests, who settled for stretching across the couch, still careful for his badly-bruised and battered left shoulder, and Jaqen settling just outside of the bedroom to make sure their prisoner didn’t escape, Jon and Catelyn retired to the kitchen.

Catelyn had insisted he rest due to his bloodshot eyes and he pointed out that she looked no better, what with her favouring her right side as she moved, even when she was still. It was clear that in spite being sunk in another realm of discomfort, rest was the last thing Catelyn was willing to do. Jon could use some sleep but he needed to find out what happened too. 

As Catelyn sat with her elbows resting on the dining table, Jon prepared coffee. He hunted for some leftover food in the fridge, discovered stir-fry vegetables and popped it in the microwave. The aroma of rich spices filled the kitchen, comforting if not for the thick tension in the air.

Jon pushed the bowl toward Catelyn, who looked at it blankly before turning away from it. Leaning against the counter, Jon looked at her.

Catelyn was already a legend at the WCA when Jon joined the agency’s IT department. His specialty was security systems, and, barely a year into the job, was soon assisting agents on their missions by hacking through firewalls and other seemingly unbreakable systems and algorithms. That was how he met Catelyn Stark, the most feared assassin of the Long Lances. Executioner was her call sign but behind her back, she was called Lady Executioner. She was a Tully before marrying Ned Stark, an old, wealthy family in Westeros who sat in numerous charity boards and whose women were part of the “ladies who lunch” set. It was rumoured she was disowned for pursuing a career and it was only when she married Ned, whose family wasn’t wealthy but was an old one in Westeros, when the Tullys accepted her back. 

Jon was in his fourth year in I.T.—by then he had assisted on missions involving Brienne, Renly and Robb—when a schedule for a field agent test came up. This was only for those already within the WCA and test-takers needed to be recommended by a senior operative or the director of the WCA before taking it. Since he had worked with Catelyn the most, he asked her if she would write him a letter. Out in the field was very different from the office, he knew, and the test, at best, only enabled him to knock on the door. It would take many things before he could get both feet in.  
He passed the test, underwent the required, years-long training, and went on to become a field agent. It was during this time that Catelyn seemingly disappeared, until he discovered later that she had become director of a black ops division. He found out by chance—tired of the usual missions and wanting to serve his country even more, Jon had volunteered for the Golden Company.

To serve the country under Catelyn had given Jon’s aimless life purpose at last. He was a kid of a the projects, one of the many foster kids of a family he could no longer remember. Many times in the night, as he lay either in wait for his next mission, or recovering from his injuries, or while a woman slept beside him—always a redhead, always different—he wondered if he was still that lost boy laying on a moth-eaten mattress staring at the sky and thinking if he would one day get out of this hell. It might be odd—running away from explosives and knowing every mission may be your last was everyone’s vision of hell but not Jon Snow. He felt most alive.

And it was all because an assassin recommended him for a test. 

Catelyn Stark was always steadfast yet tonight, for the first time, she seemed lost and helpless. Jon joined her, sitting on the other head of the table. She looked pale and far older. 

Without any verbal prompting from him, Catelyn started to speak.

There was no way for Jon to take back the night as each word from her revealed deeper and deeper rings of hell. By the time she was finished, the night was colder, a heavy cloak. Jon had to breathe into his palms to keep them warm. 

Catelyn sat back on her chair with a sigh. Jon, who had been sleepy at the beginning, was fully awake and alert.

“What is left to do, Jon, I ask you?” Catelyn said, staring at the half-empty cup of coffee in her hands. “There is no stopping them. Too many, that’s what they are. There’s only how many of us? And which alliances are we sure of? No, it’s just us, Jon. You, me, Robb, Brienne, when she wakes up.” She shook her head. “Not Jaqen. Not his men. I refuse to ask him to be part of this. We need a plan and we need it soon. Because when Howland Reed finds out what we’ve done, we will leave this place in buckets.”

“But all we’ve done is for the good of Westeros,” Jon protested.

“And look where it’s got us. A dusty, defunct tailoring shop. My ex-lover assisting us with his band of pirates. An agent the Stranger is eager to take in his arms. Where’s the good in that? Nothing. Because all we’ve done—it’s nothing.” Catelyn hung her head. “There is no light at the end of this shit, dark tunnel, Jon. There is no light.” 

“You can’t say that, Catelyn.”

She looked at him. Tired blue eyes into his searching, darker gaze.

“I’ve seen what Wildfyre can do.” 

As soon as she spoke, a scream shattered through the quiet. It was Brienne.

_“Jaime!”_


	33. The Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiss was nothing like in the movies. No soaring orchestra, no rain, no sunlight. It was heavy breathing and lips too wet, lips that were touching another for the first time, maybe. It was rustling sheets and darkness. It was his heart in his throat, then pounding in his ears, blood rushing fast and mad towards that one place below his stomach.
> 
> SENSITIVE SCENE UP AHEAD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. IN NO WAY DO I ADVOCATE THE UPCOMING SCENE IN REAL LIFE.

Jaime, unable to stop the black wave of exhaustion, finally gave in to the demands of his body. It seemed to last for only a minute before a bloodcurdling cry slashed through his sleep. He lurched to his feet, eyes blinking rapidly, and tripped towards the bed where Brienne was thrashing and calling for him, her voice raw and broken.

“Jaime!” she sobbed. “Jaime!”

“I’m here,” he said, quickly taking one of her hands and kissing it deeply, over and over. Her eyes remained screwed shut, pain twisting her face and making her uglier. He deepened his kisses, begging her to wake up. 

The door burst open and Jaime instinctively threw himself over Brienne, who was still breathing his name. He made sure he wasn’t crushing her. Robb stared at them, gun poised. Exactly four seconds later, Jaqen, Catelyn and Jon threw themselves in the room, each with their gun pointed at Jaime.

“What the hell did you do?” Catelyn demanded.

“She’s having a bad dream. It might not be a good idea for her to wake up to find those waved at her face,” Jaime said carefully. He stared at every gun pointed at him but did not remove himself from Brienne. “Believe me. I’m as shocked as you are.”

“Catelyn?” Jaqen asked.

“Holster,” Catelyn commanded and all guns were slipped back to where they belonged. Jaime let out a quick sigh of relief but it was short-lived as Robb strode toward them. Still suspicious, he looked at Brienne, whose cries have softened to whimpers but she was still tossing and turning. He put a hand on her forehead while Jaime began to peel himself away from her. In doing so, he loosened the blanket covering Brienne, revealing her breasts. Unbidden, his eyes fell on the small mounds. They were more buds than mounds, with round, delicate pink nipples stolen from a rose. Freckles surrounded them. He remembered himself and glared at Robb. 

“Get out. Now,” he ordered to Robb and the others.

“She doesn’t have fever but she has some temperature, I think,” Robb said, ignoring him. 

“If she’s your partner you’ll respect her and leave the room now,” Jaime seethed, yanking the blanket to cover her chest. 

“She’s a friend, you moron. I should be the one looking after her. I am now. You leave.”

“She doesn’t call for you. She calls for me.”

“She does that. She thinks you did something. You weren’t there the couple of times she woke up terrified and calling your name. What did I tell you? She doesn’t trust you.”

Brienne dreamed of him? Had bad dreams about him? No wonder, Jaime thought with a pang. Still, he remained at her side.

“That’s because she knows nothing of me but. . .” No. I don’t regret my feelings for Cersei. “I’m trying my utmost to show her I’m more than those things. I’m under no illusion of being a decent person. I don’t deny them. I certainly don’t regret them. But they are not the sum of me, no matter how disapproving you and your lot are. Aren’t any of you leaving?”

“You’re going to get tired. You should let someone take over,” Jaqen told him. He stood closest to the door and looked to be about to leave. Jaime decided he was alright. For now. 

“We still have things to talk about, Robb.” Jon said. “Let’s go.”

“Brienne won’t like waking up to find him with her,” Robb insisted, his hand still on her face. Jaime wanted to bite off that offensive thing.

“He’ll look after her this morning then you take over after our meeting,” Catelyn said. “Jaqen’s right. We have things to talk about.”

Robb looked like he wanted to argue some more when he sighed loudly and dropped his hand. As he followed them out of the room, he glared at Jaime again before he closed the door behind him.

Brienne had stopped talking and she wasn’t thrashing so much but she was still in the throes of a nightmare. He pulled the blanket away from her, lifted the bandage to check if she had opened her stitches. He whispered a prayer to the Mother to watch over as he plastered it back to her taut skin. 

“It’s alright,” he told her, brushing her hair away from her forehead, her cheek. “It’s a dream. I’m not the bad guy, Brienne. I swear to you, I’m not.”  
She sighed, deeply.

It wasn’t the best thing to do and he had no idea where the idea came from. Jaime sat by her legs and began to unknot the laces of his sneakers. Then he stood and began loosening the belt around his jeans.

Down to his t-shirt and boxers, Jaime took a deep breath, looked at the sleeping blond giant, who had gone still again, thank the Gods. He hesitated, checking with himself if this was the right thing to do. What were the chances he might not end up with a broken jaw, broken ribs—what were the chances he might not get shot? Her stitches, he reasoned. If she has another nightmare and opens them she’ll be in worse shape.   
Jaime climbed in beside her and closed his eyes. Brienne sighed and he debated between putting an arm around her or staying where he was, beside her, respecting what little distance remained between them, if there was still such a thing. He turned to her, making out the wild tuft of her pale blond hair in the dark, aided by moonlight, the outline of her round cheek and her wide, hard-looking chin. It was strangely comforting scenting dirt, gunpowder and blood from her hair, her skin. 

He had never lain with Cersei like this, just like this. Their encounters were always hurried, furtive, all heat and passion. They were twelve when they first touched each other. It was after Joanna’s funeral. Their aunt Genna had strong-armed Tywin into hosting cocktails afterward, emphasizing that grief was not an excuse to skip gratitude for those who had turned out for the lovely service. 

A nanny was looking after Tyrion. He didn’t look deformed yet, though his head was a bit too big and his limbs short but his cries were loud, his dark green eyes twinkled and he had given Jaime a dimpled smile when he peeked in on his baby brother, wondering if there was any truth to Cersei’s claims that he was a monster. Instead what he found was a baby with proportions that were slightly off, but with a wide, gummy cherubic smile.

Sick of too many adults clucking their tongues and patting him on the head, Jaime escaped to his bedroom. He pulled off his too-hot jacket, tailored for the occasion and never to be worn again, as well as the too-tight tie. At twelve he was already a beautiful boy, blond, green-eyed and golden. He was lanky, already found to be a bit too tall for his age despite not having started on puberty yet. Sure, his voice cracked and there were hairs under his arms and some beginning to cover his genitals but they were still too few they could be counted in one hand. He did not feel grown-up, let alone a young man in spite of Tywin’s words in the study before the funeral. “You’re a man now, Jaime. The future of this family rests on you.”

He supposed that was the end of his dreams being a surfer. He was twelve years but he knew what his father meant. The Lannister empire was his. Not to be shared with Cersei. Not with Tyrion. His. All his.

He didn’t feel any way like a king of the world. He was little boy, lost, and would always carry the rawness in his soul his mother’s death brought.  
A soft knock came to his door. “Jaime,” Cersei said. “Open the door.”

He reached for it and pulled. The door swung open.

Cersei had always been beautiful. Compliments were heaped on her feet, like roses, and it was already clear she was going to be a great beauty when she was older, if she wasn’t already. She was his mirror image, golden and smooth, with thick, blond waves framing the delicate oval of her face, emerald eyes that tilted slightly at the corners, a pink bow for her lips. Despite looking paler than usual and in a black dress tailored and made with a girl her age in mind, it looked wrong on her. It was the somber color. It was the sadness in her eyes.

“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she said, entering. 

He nodded. When they were younger they used to sleep together until Joanna forbade them and moved them to opposite wings. He had gotten used to sleeping alone but since she had died, Cersei had been bidding him to join her in her room. He didn’t want to be alone. Neither of them wanted to be alone.

“But where are your pajamas?” Jaime asked. He was taller than her, his shirts and bottoms were too big for her. 

“Can’t we stay in my room?”

“What’s wrong with my room?”

“Jaime. . .”Cersei said in a tone both gravely and whining. “This is. . .it’s too blue here.” She looked at the blue walls in distaste, frowning. “I feel seasick.”

But your room is red, he wanted to tell her. Like blood. Mom’s blood.

“Please, Jaime? You never minded before so I thought it’s alright. . .” Cersei cast pleading eyes on him. 

He nodded, feeling terrible for making a big deal out of their arrangements. He could always go back to his room. Father mentioned before that girls were particular. They liked to be surrounded by their pretty things to feel comfortable. And his room was too blue. “Of course. I can bring my stuff.”

“Come now.” 

She waited for him to pick out his pajamas. He wanted to sleep in his blue pajamas but Cersei didn’t like blue so he chose a pair of old gray track pants and a white t-shirt. They held hands as they walked down the long, empty hallway, where the clang of glasses and the voices of the guests were muffled, faint murmurings, almost ghost-like. 

When they lay on Cersei’s bed that night, that was the first time they kissed. Jaime hovered between wakefulness and sleeping, smelling his sister’s lavender hair, her lavender pillows. Then, in the dark, there came the briefest press of something wet and warm. He opened his eyes. They widened upon seeing Cersei leaning over him, kissing his lips.

He snatched his head back but there were only pillows, only the bed. He was sinking. “What are you doing?” He gasped.

“Jaime,” she pulled back a little but her slim body was still pressed over him, pushing him deeper into the mattress. “Jaime, please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. Where did you get that idea?”

She lay her head on his bony chest and put her arm around him. “I can’t bear it if you leave me.”

“I won’t, Cersei. I promise.”

“He killed Mom, Jaime.”

“Cersei—“

_“He killed her.”_

It was pointless arguing with her. She was hurt. They both were. She was mourning, Jaime thought, allowing himself to brush a lock of her long, golden hair with his fingers, it would be a while before she spoke and saw sense. He believed it, that Cersei would come around and realize her error in blaming Tyrion.

She raised herself on an elbow. “You and I belong together, Jaime.”

“You are my sister,” he said, confused.

“Only you and I.”

He blinked at her. It was dark, he couldn’t see her, but she was waiting for some type of response from him.

“We came into this world together.”

_“Yes.”_

She rewarded him with another kiss.

The kiss was nothing like in the movies. No soaring orchestra, no rain, no sunlight. It was heavy breathing and lips too wet, lips that were touching another for the first time, maybe. It was rustling sheets and darkness. It was his heart in his throat, then pounding in his ears, blood rushing fast and mad towards that one place below his stomach. It ached. Twisting and tight pain that flung his eyes open but he saw only darkness, that shadow of Cersei’s golden hair. It was wrong, she was his sister, he was her brother, but how, how could something that felt so right, could be? How? 

_Why?_

It was a question he would ask countless times over the years. Why couldn’t they hold hands in public, why couldn’t he kiss her in front of people? Why couldn’t he sleep in her room—why wouldn’t she sleep in his room? “Because if they knew they’ll tear us apart,” Cersei told him, batting away his hands, leaning away from his sloppy, eager kisses. “I don’t want to lose you, Jaime. You’ll have me but we have to be careful.”

“But I love you,” he protested.

“I love you too.” 

They were fourteen when they first had each other. It was a terrifying experience. Jaime couldn’t relax, he worried about hurting Cersei. Cersei too, had breathed faster but she had been the one to guide him, to tell him how to go slowly, slowly at first. He listened to her little pants in his ear, using it as a gauge for what she liked. 

They had each other as often as they could but it was always quick and laced with panic. Jaime took her in one of the library carrels once, during college, and they had gotten loud—so loud that Cersei cupped a hand over his mouth to muffle his groans. He hated how even this, in secret, he couldn’t be free, that the only release was his cock in her cunt. When he was supposed to be studying for his midterms, she went to his dorm room, locked the door behind her. As his studied in the next room, Jaime had to bite his lip as Cersei wrapped her mouth around the plum-like tip of his cock. When he came, blood flooded his mouth.

Graduation couldn’t come soon enough. Jaime thought that he could have her at last. They could live together and be together as often as they want. He wanted to be able to shout her name as he came, he wanted her to beg him as loudly as she wanted without fear. Freedom—the word was sweet, the images in his mind sweeter, hotter.

“Tywin would murder us,” she told him when he first broached the subject. Years would pass and he would continue with it, ignoring her arguments and her disapproval. She had all the answers but he still couldn’t understand. How could she be satisfied with what they have? Frantic fucking? Breathless implorations to _hurry, hurry, hurry?_

The last time he spoke to her about it was the last time they were together. 

She was slipping on the blood-red dress discarded on the floor earlier. Jaime, still in his bed, watched as she thrust her full, creamy breasts as she slipped her arms through the sleeves before tying it closed with a sash. She bent to pick up her silk-and-lace bra and thong from the floor and stuffed them in her bag. 

“Why? What would he think about his children living together?”

“What if he suddenly visits and discovers there’s only one bed? Gods, Jaime, why can’t you think about these things?”

“Then we’ll run away.”

He said so earnestly she thought he was joking. She burst out laughing. She stopped when she caught the hurt look in his eyes.

“We have a life here, Jaime. We have a responsibility as Lannisters.”

“Fuck being a Lannister, Cersei. I don’t care. Let’s disappear somewhere where no one knows us. We can have new names. We can have the life we’ve always wanted.”

“But isn’t that here in Westeros? With each other?”

“We can’t be together here. I want to be with you, Cersei. I love you. Don’t you want the same thing?”

“Tywin will find us wherever we go. And what do you think he’ll do? He’ll hurt us. Me. You. Me. Because I’m the older twin, I should know better. I do. Gods, I do. But he’ll never see how right we are for each other. He’ll only his son, his daughter, the shame they’ll bring—“

“There is no shame in what we have. We don’t get to choose who we love.”

“But we must choose to live as we could. Love is not running away together, Jaime. It’s fighting to be with each other, loving each still more in spite of all that comes between us.” She knelt on the bed and crawled to him, a beautiful, graceful lioness. She clutched at his face suddenly. Her eyes were sharp emeralds as they bore down on him. “I would burn cities to the ground. You are all that matters. Know that, my beautiful, golden lover.” 

_“Yes,”_ he groaned as she ripped away the blanket and guided him inside her. 

“You,” she hissed, pumping against him. “Only you.” 

As it always went, when he woke up the next day, he was alone. 

And for the next three years, he would be, wanting and missing his sister, loving her still, his golden lover, yet unable to forgive what she and their father had done to his only brother. Longing for her, wanting to hold on to the little he had of her--her lavender scent on his pillow--but it faded away.


	34. Mother's Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to know what their endgame is? It’s Wildfyre, boy. Then chaos. A country in chaos makes it a feast for crows and the Harpys are salivating at the very idea. That’s already a problem. Now they’ve included in their agenda Jaime Lannister. If you’re not worried about how many people are looking for him, I am. Best we get on the inside to know what the Harpys know. That’s one less question we’ll be asking ourselves.”

“I hate to say it,” Jon said. He was sitting at the head of the dining table, looking at the grim faces of Catelyn, Jaqen and Robb. “But with these recent developments we’re back to square one.”

“There is some strange reassurance that Viserys can’t access the Wildfyre he’s so intent on selling since we have the person who will literally unlock it less than thirty feet away,” Robb said, tapping his knuckles on the wooden surface of the table. “I hate to say it but it’s true.”

“But we have to return that Lannister at some point,” Jaqen said. “It’s like being with a ticking time bomb. My associates have told me that the men hired by Viserys and Tywin haven’t sniffed us out yet but who knows how long.”

“And Howland has already been alerted of Jaime Lannister’s supposed death and missing body,” Catelyn rubbed her temples. “I’ve no word yet if he’s figured out we’ve stolen information from him.”

“Oberyn’s codes should give us some protection,” Jon assured her. “From my understanding, it’s only him and Howland with the codes. Different codes. When they find out, and they will, it will be his.”

“But he’ll remember what might have happened,” Robb said. He was still a little embarrassed about having to seduce the guy though it was mostly Brienne who finished the job. “How is it that he was alert and walking in less than twenty-four hours?”

“What did you give him?”

“Sweetsleep.”

Jon was surprised. Catelyn and Jaqen exchanged a look.

“Sweetsleep is just as dangerous as Nightshade,” Jon told Robb. “But with Nightshade, a drop or two isn’t lethal. Sweetsleep is something else.”  
“Oberyn was supposed to be knocked out for days. That’s why we used Sweetsleep,” Robb pointed out. “We checked the guy’s medical records too. He’s healthy. Doesn’t have any underlying conditions.”

“But that’s not what happened,” Catelyn said. “Who prepped it?”

“Sam. But it was Brienne who used it. She probably miscalculated.” 

“I’m concerned that the Sons of Harpy have expressed interest in the Wildfyre, among other things” Catelyn said, returning to the subject of their discussion.

“We all are, Mother,” Robb told her. “But given how they almost killed us, we’ll have to draw back. We simply don’t have the means to overpower them and send them scattering. We have to return our focus to those three bastards. Blount. Clegane. Moore.”

“And there is nothing we can do. My cover’s blown,” Jaqen added. "Right now the members are scattered but they'll regroup soon. This brings us time. Wenda's leadership wil be questioned. They might keep her or elect a new one." 

Using Jaqen’s intel, they had snuck in a gathering of the Sons of Harpy in a private room of a restaurant. Catelyn and Robb went undercover as servers while Jaqen slipped back into his old alias of Thoros, a brother returning to the cause. Brienne went with him as his protégé, Rhaenys.  
The Sons of Harpy looked like your ordinary businessmen and entrepreneurs. They didn’t have a distinct look, nor did they speak in a secret language, they didn’t do anything that identified them as a group. Jaqen had told them that slipping into the mosaic of the ordinary was one of the skills of the Harpy. They were never underground but out in the open. 

They didn’t spot Daario there, though Robb knew it was pointless to expect him because he was rotting away in the Black Cells. Their mission was to observe and find out how the Harpys intended to acquire Wildfyre. They were not to engage unless forced to. Though the four of them could take down the entire room of Harpys, it wouldn’t be worth the risk because the few numbers they had could be made fewer or worse, cut to zero.  
Robb was refilling red wine for the guests at the head table. None of the faces jumped at him and he rued how their lack of tech support disabled him from identifying who they were. Mixed with the professional-looking lot were what appeared to be suburban husbands and wives. It was galling realizing how ordinary the Harpys were, that it was because of this why they had always been undetected and unnoticed unless they willed otherwise. 

“Will someone tell me why that fucking little dragon is dragging his feet with the sale of Wildfyre,” said the cool, dulcet tones of a woman. She wasn’t sitting at one of the head tables but when she stood up to speak, the hushed conversation immediately stopped. She was tall, and from where Robb stood, he guessed she was taller than him. Her long blond hair hung to her waist. She was more striking than beautiful, with small gray eyes, sharp, high cheekbones. Her high-necked black dress emphasized the pale color of her hair. There was a witch-like, intriguing quality about her yet also command in her very presence. As she spoke, she had her hands clasped together in her middle, looking at every person in the room. Her gray eyes rested briefly on Robb’s before they went to the next.

“He says we are not offering enough. And he also suspects that we have that Lannister,” answered a man. He looked so plain and ordinary there was nothing about him to remember.

“Oh? Does he really believe we are the sort to engineer such a kidnapping?” The woman sounded amused. “In relation to that, is there any word as to who had taken him?”

Robb knew he shouldn’t do it but his eyes quickly found Brienne. She was seated at the back of the room with Jaqen. She had frozen at the mention of Jaime’s kidnapping.

Continue as you are, he told her, pathetically hoping that telepathy might work. Of late, Jaime’s name and anything related to him was a trigger to his partner, causing her to waver in her missions. 

“We remain unaware. As do the men the Tywin Lannister and Viserys Targaryen hired.”

“It is worrying that the man who coughed up the Wildfyre is missing although that dumb dragon is sitting on a vast supply of it.” The woman said thoughtfully. “We must continue pressing him to sell but we must also consider finding Jaime Lannister. The way I see it, if we have him, then we have a resident supplier of Wildfyre.”

The suggestion was greeted with roars of approval.

“I would like to welcome a returning ally of ours,” The woman continued when she raised her hand and was immediately given the silence she wanted. “Thoros. Rise so your brothers and sisters may see you.”

Jaqen rose and bowed. “It humbles me to be welcomed.”

“Approach, Thoros,” the woman commanded. She looked below his shoulder. “And bring your friend with you.”

 

That was their first introduction to Wenda, known better as White Fawn. She was the current general of the Sons of Harpy. The irony wasn’t lost but from what they’ve seen since that first night in the restaurant, Wenda had the loyalty of every member and she was practically uncontested in everything. They clearly saw her as a god.

For the next couple of days, Wenda took Jaqen and Brienne under her wing, all but forcing them to stay in her penthouse after the dinner. It was difficult for them to update each other and they barely managed. They finally decided to meet at the alley at the back of the bookstore where Robb and Brienne had hidden during the fire in the hotel. They updated Jon but kept their phone conversations short because the line wasn't secure. Robb cocked an eyebrow when Brienne inquired after their hostage. It wasn't the first time since they had embarked on this latest mission.

Robb, who was leading the mission, was displeased that their team was going to be split but Jaqen warned him that any refusal would arouse suspicion by Wenda. When he pointed out that Brienne was unnecessary baggage, Jaqen shook his head.

“It’s because she’s with me why Wenda is interested. She sees a new recruit in her.”

“What can I expect of her?” Brienne asked.

Jaqen was grim. “Unthinkable things.”

“Elaborate.”

Catelyn glanced at Jaqen then said, Jaqen’s cover was an agent who turned from his country. Harpys love disillusioned members. For him to prove his loyalty. . .” her voice faltered but Jaqen nodded, urging her on. “He shot me.”

Robb was outraged. To Brienne and Jaqen, he growled, “This is dangerous. This Wenda. . .she scents fresh blood in Brienne. What the hell do you think she’ll have Brienne do?”

“We still don’t know enough. We have no choice. We have to get close,” Brienne insisted.

“This is dangerous. You and I know this,” Robb said forcefully.

“You want to know what their endgame is? It’s Wildfyre, boy. Then chaos. A country in chaos makes it a feast for crows and the Harpys are salivating at the very idea. That’s already a problem. Now they’ve included in their agenda Jaime Lannister. If you’re not worried about how many people are looking for him, I am. Best we get on the inside to know what the Harpys know. That’s one less question we’ll be asking ourselves.” 

“I am loath to agree,” Catelyn told Robb. “But it makes sense.”

“We hardly have any support and we’re black ops who have resorted to hiring characters—“ Robb flung the word at Jaqen—“and now you’re actually agreeing to this mad plan?”

“If they find out we have Jaime then all is lost,” Brienne said.

“I’ve been telling and telling you to return him. The Lannisters. Viserys. Whoever wants him. Why do we keep him? Why don’t we just storm back to Targaryen Industries and get rid of the Wildfyre?” 

“We don’t have any support to make that happen, Robb.”

“Why don’t we just dump him at Tywin’s doorstep? Or that sister of his?”

Catelyn shook her head. “No. That's not going to happen."

He glared at her. “We don’t have any means of keeping them safe once they’re with that White Fawn.”

“We are never safe, Robb,” Brienne told him quietly, “but you do have to get us out of there when shit hits the fan.”

 

Shit did hit the fan.

And Robb and Catelyn barely got them out.

Brienne did not trust Wenda at all, never mind her gentle tones and her smiles. Her gray eyes were forever looking at her, drinking her in, almost hungrily. When she told Jaqen about it as they were brought to the Weirdwood Forest to witness a Harpy initiation, he admitted noticing the same thing. It was difficult to make sense of it, as well as the nagging feeling that she had met Wenda before and the other woman knew exactly who she was. 

“Does she not believe I’m your daughter?” Brienne whispered as they joined the others. She had her arm around his elbow. For this mission, she had dyed her hair a dirty blond, to match Jaqen’s hair color. “You said she trusts you.”

“Aye, that is why she’s let me back into the fold,” Jaqen said. “But Wenda works differently. She is not one to ask outright to know something. She’s sneaky. Unfortunately, it always works in her favour. She collects every information and secret there is and tests the members of their loyalty by dangling the threat of exposing their greatest shames. And there are many.”

“My cover should be solid.” Yet even the words sounded thin and hollow to Brienne.

They approached the clearing in the forest where the Harpys have already gathered. Wenda stood in the center of what appeared to be a pyre, the flames high and licking at the night. Again her hair hung loose and she was once again in a high-necked dress, white this time. She looked like a ghost with the fire behind her, her eyes looking very gray.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this,” Brienne murmured, unconsciously clutching Jaqen’s arm as Wenda started to speak of the Harpy’s growing power, that one day they will crush Essos and Westeros and return to another time where kingdoms were on their own rather than under one banner. 

Her blue eyes the size of saucers, Brienne whispered to Jaqen, “The Harpys intend to splinter us.”

“Chaos,” he agreed.

“We should kill her,” she said, nodding at Wenda.

“That’s not our mission.”

“Fuck this mission. We can’t just stand and let this mad witch get her way.”

“We welcome a new sister in our midst,” Wenda announced, making a sweeping gesture with her hand toward her audience. “Rhaenys, daughter of Thoros.”

Jaqen and Brienne looked at each other in horror. But they recovered quickly, clearing their expressions as two men approached them. Brienne squared her shoulders. There were no comms. All they had were knives and guns on their persons and a flare gun to signal Robb and Catelyn, who were nearby. Brienne let the men take her to Wenda.

Wenda smiled at her benevolently as Brienne was brought to her. “Rhaenys, child. This surprises you?”

“I did not know I was being considered for membership,” Brienne admitted.

“But Thoros is your father. Secrets have ended more families than you think. It must pain your father not being able to tell you he is one of us.”  
Brienne didn’t answer. She was mentally counting and assessing their chances of escaping. There were too many Harpys. Probably armed. Her bulky coat concealed her guns and knives but if there was a fight, and there will be a fight, it will be out in the open. The trees were too far for refuge, the fires had made the night a most unlikely ally. Brienne couldn’t believe that tonight she might die at the hands of a bloody fanatic. She had so many opportunities for fantastic deaths. Sure. It was always shit to die but not like this. She stared at Wenda’s too-pleasant expression. 

_If the Stranger comes through her I’ll give her a bloody fight._

“The Harpys wish for independence, the return to a life where we were responsible for ourselves, not on leaders like that Olenna Tyrell, not to anyone,” Wenda said, smiling at Brienne first then at the people surrounding her. “The fight continues but more and more join our ranks. Tonight we have with us the daughter of a brother. Rhaenys. Come forward, my dear. You’re tall but let them see you, nevertheless. Come.”

She offered a slim, white hand to Brienne. Resigned, she took it and stood beside her.

Standing close to her, Brienne realized how tall Wenda was. She was slim and delicate, as if the softest whisper of the wind would topple her. But the hand that held her was strong despite its size. She was not tall as Brienne but the top of her head was past her shoulders. 

“Rhaenys, you are the daughter of a brother but you must prove your loyalty to the Harpy,” Wenda said. “For everyone’s consideration, I submit that Rhaenys task would be to bring Jaime Lannister to us.” 

Brienne, in her years as an agent, a veteran of many dangerous missions, the top student in all her classes, never had trouble compartmentalizing her emotions. But the moment Wenda demanded she bring Jaime, there was only one thing Brienne knew what to do. It was foolish. It would cost her. Them.

“No!”

 

Catelyn never liked the dark.

The night is dark and full of terrors, she thought, remembering one of the old codes she used with Jaqen when confirming her identity. You never knew what lurked in the dark, no matter how much you armed yourself. 

The guns strapped to her sides should comfort her yet her eyes never stopped darting, first skyward then the forest that waited for them. Robb, who was beside her and sat behind the steering wheel, was anxious too. He was staring at the moonless night, one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick, ready to go should Jaqen fire that flare.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Robb muttered.

“You and me both.”

“This observation has gone too long, Mother.”

“We need to know. How they plan to get Wildfyre. What they’ll do to get Jaime. We have no support but we have no choice.”  
Robb appeared to mull that over before he said, “The Golden Company was created to ensure the people of Westeros will always have a choice. It doesn’t bode well for the country when the very people responsible for it work on a blueprint where they have little or no choice at all.” 

“This is temporary, Robb.”

“For how long? The sooner we get rid of Jaime the better.” 

Catelyn was going to speak more when a bright orange flame lit up the night sky. 

“Go!” Catelyn yelled as Robb gunned the engine and lurched toward the forest.

Another flare lit up the sky and Robb followed it. Catelyn yanked out her gun from her holster and lowered the window. 

“Seven fucking bloody hells,” Robb swore as they approached the melee.

Members of the Harpy were running in all directions, confusion and terror on their faces while others tried to subdue them, preventing them from leaving. Robb swerved and in doing so, found Brienne in the thick of it, taking on five at once. Her gun seemed to fly before it landed in her sure grip and she pumped it, firing once, twice before she turned, raised her leg and knocked out an opponent. She grabbed her knife from her ankle and threw it. It sailed in the air, graceful quicksilver before it sank in the enemy’s chest. 

A man suddenly locked his arms around Brienne and she struggled, grunting. Robb, one hand on the wheel as the SUV continued to spin, grabbed his gun and fired, hitting him behind the shoulders. His arms fell, taking Brienne with him. She rolled away, saw them and nodded. 

Meanwhile, Catelyn had thrown herself out of the vehicle, tucked herself into a tight ball and rolled. As soon as she straightened, she blinked up at Wenda. Wenda punched her in the face and Catelyn saw stars but she shook them off. Then she snarled and lunged towards her. The two women tumbled to the dirt. 

Robb, still in the SUV, kept on firing. He saw Jaqen hiding behind a boulder. From the frequency of knives coming from him, he appeared to have only brought blades to a knife fight. He rolled his eyes impatiently, still firing his gun and shooting everyone he aimed at, as he yelled at the older man, “You idiot! Get in here!”

“A man does not walk away from a fight!” Jaqen shouted back as he threw another knife. It found the throat of one Harpy.

“This one refuses to die protecting an idiot!” Robb shouted back, flooring it and zooming toward him. Jaqen’s eyes widened and dove out of the way. “Get in the fucking car!”

Jaqen was still hanging ass-first out of the car when Robb turned again and saw Catelyn in a headlock with Wenda. Since the blond was much taller, Catelyn was straining to grip her, grimacing as she did. Wenda growled and bent, throwing her off.

“Mom!” Robb cried out as Catelyn slammed onto a boulder on the ground. 

“No, stay,” Jaqen snapped as he rolled out of the car. As soon as he was out, one of the Harpys punched him in the head. Jaqen groaned, falling to the ground. Robb got his gun and shot him point-blank between the eyes.

As Jaqen ran toward Catelyn’s limp form, Brienne had hidden behind a tree and was shooting at approaching Harpys. She saw Wenda coming toward her, wielding a sword. Brienne aimed her gun and fired.

She was out.

Fuck.

Wenda attacked, slashing towards Brienne. Brienne jumped back but she was hampered by the weight of weapons in her coat. She yanked it off and used it to lunge back at Wenda, striking her on the temple.

“Bitch,” Wenda swore, swinging again.

Brienne swung her coat again and Wenda sliced it in half. She rolled back, grabbing a small knife from her boot as she did. She held it to her side, her blue eyes dark and her face twisted in a snarl as Wenda regarded her.

“Come at me,” Brienne dared her.

“Your funeral,” Wenda retorted and did.

Brienne tapped into her training and instinct to survive and fight dirty but Wenda was faster, more cunning. She barely moved away just in time when the sword slashed toward her, ripping at her shirt. But Brienne could be fast too and retaliated with a deep slash of her knife on Wenda’s arm.   
Wenda made her pay for it in less than ten seconds when Brienne, turning away from another attack, gave her her back. Wenda’s leg cut through the air before it landed hard on the back of Brienne’s shin. Her scream of pain tore Robb away from keeping an eye on Jaqen as he helped Catelyn struggle to her feet before deciding she was having trouble walking. 

Wenda slammed her fist on Brienne’s jaw. Brienne sprawled on the ground, coughing up blood. She pushed herself to her knees.

“Shit!” Robb abandoned the car, took another gun and started running toward the two women. His heavy boots thundered on the ground and sent dust flying.

He shot at more Harpys, killing them in an instant but his eyes were on Brienne and Wenda. Brienne was struggling, standing only on one good leg. She still held her knife. Wenda looked like a predator savouring the anticipation of a kill.

Then she flung her sword away.

Brienne’s eyes widened as Wenda suddenly knelt before her. Gone was the savagery in her face. In its place was a strange yet familiar tenderness.  
She still kept her knife pointed as Wenda touched her on the cheek. Her eyes scanned every inch of Brienne’s face, her forehead, her freckles, the blood on the side of her lips, but mostly, her eyes. Wenda fixated on them, as if searching. . .for something. 

“I could never hurt you,” she suddenly whispered and gently took Brienne’s knife. “You are no one. You should be. But I do love you, Brienne.”

Brienne’s eyes widened as the familiar words of her nightmare returned to her like a tidal wave. _She knows my name._ Realization spread across her face and Wenda nodded understandingly, gently. 

“I really do love you,” she whispered, kissing her on the cheek.

Then Wenda’s face hardened and her arm moved, swiftly. Brienne winced, feeling a sudden, hard pressure below. She looked down and saw the handle of her own knife protruding from her stomach.

_“Mom,”_ she whispered just before darkness drew its shroud over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? 
> 
> That's what you're probably thinking. If you remember, a few chapters ago, Brienne's mother was believed to have died in a car accident shortly after she was born. But there was no mention if her body was found or if there was enough for there to be funeral. If you go further back, you'll also remember that the real reason Brienne was recruited into the WCA was not really because of what she wrote in college but due to her Essosi roots. I'm not confirming yet if the WCA suspected who her mother was or already knew. I'm counting again that Howland might know something and as usual, keeping that information close to his chest. 
> 
> This fanfic is inspired by Sydney and Irina/Laura's relationship in Alias. Irina is a horrible person, no matter how much she claims to love her daughter. Wenda/Alysanne is of the same ilk. 
> 
> The inclusion of the Sons of Harpy is to pose a real threat to our gang about the continuing presence of Jaime Lannister and what he knows about Wildfyre. Wenda knew who Brienne was early on, hence her constant staring. 
> 
> Wenda will return, as well as other characters. It's interesting that Brienne's getting frayed since Jaime Lannister came to her life.


	35. Unleashed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why am I doing this?” Jaime, finished, looked down at her. He had one arm resting by her waist and the other’s hand still on her stomach but on the bare skin. He traced soft circles with his palm on it, making her tensed.   
> She closed her eyes. “Please—“  
> She didn’t know if she was pleading with him to stop or begging him not to.  
> “I dreamed of you.”

Tywin Lannister’s office in LannCorp was the entire top floor of the building. Armed security, surveillance cameras and bulletproof glass doors made it an elegant fortress. No one could set foot within the premises unless with explicit permission by Tywin himself. That included his vice-president of marketing, his daughter Cersei Lannister.

This morning, however, she was striding down the long, blood-red hallway of his office quarters. Her high heels made sharp, clicking sounds on the white, gleaming marble tiles. Her hair, a rich, golden spun blond, hung in artful waves down her slim shoulders. At thirty-eight years old, her beauty was still unmatched and unrivalled by women much younger than she. Her skin was smooth, unlined ivory, her eyes, outlined with dark liner, were bright and the exact shade of emeralds. Her lips were full and red, like the silk dress she was wearing. Red heels finished the look. She was not one wear to jewelry although the Lannisters had it in hoards, in bank vaults all over, except for the two-carat, princess-cut yellow diamond on her ring finger. 

The secretaries, all five of them, stopped what they were doing to watch her with a mix of admiration and envy. Admiration because she was a Lannister, rich, and now, about to get richer thanks to Loras Tyrell, and envy because she was already born into unimaginable riches and couldn’t possibly deserve more. Cersei ignored them, knowing exactly what they were thinking. 

Tywin was seated behind his massive oak desk, the legs carved into lion paws and a high-backed chair with the head of a snarling lion on top when Cersei pushed past the heavy double doors. He was going through a thick sheave of contracts with occasional glances at his laptop. Cersei stood by the doors, hands clasped in front of her, annoyed that he did not acknowledge her right away.

“Father,” she said coolly. “You summoned me.”

“Gregor Clegane will be arriving shortly,” Tywin answered, looking at her. His hair was white and slicked back from a high, elegant forehead. He was seventy years old yet sharper than ever, more cunning, and as fit as a young man of twenty-five. When Cersei looked at him, she saw how her brother Jaime would look like years from now. The difference was Tywin’s eyes were emerald shards while Jaime’s had a playful glint. 

“I did not get the memo that we will be consorting with the mob beginning today,” Cersei said, walking towards one of the chairs by his desk. This one was smaller and had snarling lions for arms. 

“You forget that he is my godson,” Tywin said, returning to the work before him. “With sources and contacts that may help getting my son back.”  
Jaime. Cersei missed her golden fool of a brother. She missed his tender smiles and his heavy weight between her legs. Her breasts ached at the memory. 

“What, are the Second Sons and the Company of the Cat proving to be disappointing?” Cersei commented, tilting her head. “I thought Olenna had also dispatched the WCA in the search.”

“We are not getting answers as fast as they should come, given that everyone in Westeros is looking for him,” Tywin murmured. “And I intend to pour everything needed into getting my heir back.”

“Your heir?” Cersei was surprised but spoke softly so as not to betray herself. “He remains your heir when he has turned his back to you?”

Hard emeralds met her eyes. “He is my son.”

“And what of me, Father?”

“You will marry Loras Tyrell and bear his children. You will strengthen the wealth and power of the Lannisters and the Tyrells.”

“And yet I’m not your heir.”

“You’re smart, Cersei,” Tywin said, tapping a few keys on the computer before he resumed his task with the paperwork. “But not as smart as you think. You’ve proven to be short-sighted when you insisted on entering into a partnership with Militant Industries, in spite of my advising against it as well as the board. You funded research and development projects that have not yielded any tangible results, once again doing so despite my telling you not to. You are ambitious. But ambition, uncoupled with the necessary smarts, is not acumen but foolishness.”

Cersei bristled. “You’ve made mistakes too.”

“This is my company. I can do whatever I like. And I do listen to my advisers and learn. Can you say the same for yourself?” Then he continued, “When Gregor arrives, you will join me in welcoming him and you will encourage him to aid in recovering your brother.” 

“I have a fiancé, in case you’ve forgotten, father.”

“Since when has anything stopped you?”

 

Oberyn Martell rubbed his neck as he went to his office at the WCA. Analysts were already at their terminals as he walked past them. As usual, Oberyn was at work half an hour before he was supposed to be. He liked being early. It gave him time for coffee and slowly acclimate to the staid, sterile environment and the rough day ahead. Work at WCA was always like that. Easy days are a myth.

His assistant was a young man named Olyvar. His official title was executive assistant but Olyvar was actually a computer genius and Oberyn saw a lot of himself in him. Of course, the boy still had a ways to go but the potential was there. Quick, analytical and alert, Oberyn was thinking of recommending him for the field exam application. Just because one was surrounded by computers and humming machines all day didn’t mean he could only fight and defend Westeros in that capacity.

Oberyn turned on his computer. While waiting for it to boot up, he went to his cappuccino machine. He was a practical man, with little indulgences except the flesh and a good cup of coffee. As he measured cream and coffee, he glanced at his computer every now and then. 

This task could be left to Olyvar but preparing his own coffee was one of the ways Oberyn eased himself into the day. Unlike dilettantes who just dumped whatever grind was on hand and waited for the coffeemaker to churn it out, he enjoyed the intricate, careful process of preparing cappuccino. He liked taking his time. Rushing was almost always unsatisfactory but savouring every moment always left you satiated. 

As he put a cup under the mouth of the machine where cappuccino would pour, his mind returned to an encounter from a few nights ago. He had awakened alone in the Red Room with a headache but his entire body was satisfied. It was too bad he didn’t have Alliser’s thick cluster of dark curls beside him, or Tysha’s legs tangled with his. He had asked about them but was told that the couple had been quick to end their membership and the club did not give private information of members both past and current. 

Which led Oberyn to having to use the resources of the WCA. The results were far from conclusive. There was an Alliser and Tysha Thorne but their government records were a mess. It listed Tysha as dead and Alliser was in a retirement home. There was also an Alliser Thorne but he was a freshman at Westeros University. His photograph looked nothing like the man Oberyn knew. There was no other trace of Tysha.

Oberyn was sipping his coffee and looking at the computer when Olyvar entered. “Reports,” he said, laying down the folder on his glass desk. 

“Howland also wants to see you in thirty minutes.”

“Did he say why?”

Olyvar shrugged. “He’s the director. What else could it be but urgent?”

“Indeed. Thank you.”

Oberyn thumbed through the reports, finishing his cappuccino. Every week, he was given reports regarding the security system he had put in the computers of WCA. He called it Manticore, after the lethal venom. Much like its namesake, it struck and burned the files of anyone who tried hacking into the WCA unless in possession of the right codes. Only two people owned the codes—him and Howland.

His dark eyes narrowed as they scanned the page then another. The report was always thick but not like this, and the information downloaded was never in quantities such as this. Certain names kept on jumping up. Frowning, he looked at the report he had from the previous week. Same set of names. Almost the same file size downloaded. He eyed the date and stood up. 

Oberyn strode into the terminals room. “Everyone, put everything you’re doing on hold,” he announced. “I want you all to trace back to nine days ago. Scan every file searched and traced where they downloaded. Olyvar,” he called to his assistant, who came rushing. “Tell Howland not to wait for me. I’m on my way.” 

 

“This was not supposed to happen, Martell,” Howland Reed told him. His moss-green eyes were sharp and darker. “How?”

“We’re still tracking it but we have to suspect the worst,” Oberyn said. It wouldn’t do to be on the defensive since this was his responsibility. “Someone got hold of one of the codes.”

“I don’t have it in my person. It’s imbedded in my phone.”

“So is mine. But a person who knows what he’s looking for and how can get them easily.”

“Can you trace it? Find out if our phones were hacked?”

“I did a quick one before coming here. My phone’s clean. So’s yours.”

“I haven’t let my phone out of my sight, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Howland snapped. 

“How about when you sleep?”

“The phone is programmed to know only my touch. If it’s touched by anyone else it’s to emit an electrical charge.”

Oberyn ran a hand through his thick dark hair in frustration. “Mine isn’t.”

_“Bloody Seven Hells, Martell.”_

Someone knocked on the door and Howland looked murderous. Oberyn held up a hand as he went to the door. “It’s my assistant. He’s keeping watch on the trace,” he said, opening it and letting Olyvar in.

“Sir,” Olyvar nodded at Howland then thrust a sheet of paper to Oberyn. “They’re online. We found them.”

Oberyn looked at the information printed there and then at Howland.

“It’s in Seed Street,” he said. “Sin Rostro Tailoring.” 

 

Brienne lifted her shirt so Jaime may examine her wound. 

It had been the longest three days of her life. In between nightmares and Milk of the Poppy, she also had to squeeze in the fact that it was Jaime Lannister who had taken charge of her care since that hellish night with Sons of Harpy. He told her that she’d screamed for him several times and he had to hold her down, in fear of the stitches she might open and hurting herself further, because she would thrash wildly and fight him. At one point she had punched him in the jaw, almost knocking him out. But he had fought to stay awake and fought harder to stay with her and stand guard over the enemy that slit through her head. Robb had given up trying to physically remove him from his partner. 

Jaime’s hands were light and tender, in spite of his rough palms and calloused fingers, as he gently tore the bandage from her skin with one hand and pressed another on her. Her cut looked very pink despite her freckled stomach but it wasn’t swollen nor was it infected. She started lowering her t-shirt but he stopped her.

“You still have your stitches. I won’t be removing them yet. Best we keep them covered, alright?” He told her, speaking to her as if she were a child. She scowled at him.

“I’ve done nothing but be on my ass. I won’t be messing with the stitches, if that’s what you think,” she told him, trying to lower her t-shirt again. This time he clamped a firm hand around her wrist. 

“Let the doctor do as he sees fit with you, Blue. Don’t be stubborn.”

“You’re a PhD, not MD.” She lowered her t-shirt, glad to be fully covered.

He rolled his eyes. “As you like reminding me. I’m replacing that bandage like it or not. You’re a slippery trout when you have those nightmares. It hasn’t been the easiest holding you down.”

He bent his head as he spoke, cutting bandage and gauze as he did. Brienne stared at his hands. They were large and long-fingered, but elegant, unlike her own which also had long fingers but with knobby knuckles and broken fingernails. It was those same hands that tested and weaponized Wildfyre, carefully poured solutions over the other, turned the knob of microscopes and the like—who knew exactly what he did? But from the sure yet careful way Jaime worked, it was clear he was comfortable working with his hands.

In the sun, his hair and skin looked even more golden. He could use a shave, a haircut. His long-sleeved t-shirt was rumpled and there was the faint scent of soap slowly overpowered by sweat on his skin. Brienne realized her breathing, though gentle, was shallow, as if the oxygen supply in the room was limited. Her lungs did feel a little tight and she wondered if it was another repercussion from her encounter with the Sons of Harpy.

_Mom._

She bit her lip at the same time Jaime looked up. He grinned at her. “This isn’t going to hurt, Blue.”

“My name,” she growled, “is Brienne.”

“And I’m Jaime,” he retorted. He saw that she had lowered her t-shirt. “Up.” 

Brienne wanted to make him fight her for it but he was right, she might open her stitches. She pulled up her t-shirt. He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Higher.”

Warmth crept up her cheeks. “I’m—I’m not wearing a bra.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She kept her t-shirt where it was.

He sighed loudly. “Alright. Just lie down.”

Lying down, Brienne discovered shortly, was worse. It had Jaime looming over her, a position she found too intimate and recalled moments she’d rather forget. Yet she watched him as he worked, covering her wound.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You could probably make a belt and a scarf out of your intestines, giant that you are,” he told her, gently applying the covering. “But I have a feeling you’d prefer it’s my intestines than yours.”

“Do you want to lose a couple of teeth?”

“Why am I doing this?” Jaime, finished, looked down at her. He had one arm resting by her waist and the other’s hand still on her stomach but on the bare skin. He traced soft circles with his palm on it, making her tensed. 

She closed her eyes. “Please—“

She didn’t know if she was pleading with him to stop or begging him not to.

“I dreamed of you.”

She opened her eyes. Jaime smiled at her gently. 

“There they are. Never put away those sapphires, Blue. They’re your greatest weapon, not your fists.”

“Shut up,” she whispered hoarsely. He was still caressing her.

“Do I scare you?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I’ve done despicable things.”

His sister. “It’s not that.”

Understanding what she meant, his hand stilled on her skin. His eyes were molten emeralds as they looked at her.

“Why the change?”

“Was there?”

_“Brienne.”_

Her name was harsh and sweet from his lips. She would have said something, she didn’t know what, she forgot because Jaime was suddenly kissing her stomach, licking at the taut skin. She arched unconsciously, her mouth falling open as it spoke of a wordless desire. She clutched at his head, her nails digging in his scalp. He groaned, maybe from pain, maybe from pleasure. She didn’t loosen her grip.

Her breath was harsh little pants as his kisses got bolder, higher, licking at the firm, ridged plane of her stomach, dipping in her navel before he pushed her t-shirt to her throat. Brienne swallowed, an old fear welling up—that fear that a man would drag her t-shirt to her face and leave it there—but no, it remained on her throat as Jaime crawled between her legs and started kissing around the slight curve of her breast.

“Jaime,” she cried out as he pulled her nipple between his teeth and sucked. Her legs locked around his torso. He released it with a loud, popping sound, satisfied that it was now a tight, red, aching point. She wailed as he began repeating the process with her other nipple. 

There was no name to what she was feeling now. All she knew that she was knots and pulled threads all at once, hot and chilled, terrified and wanting, needing, oh Gods, she needed, needed his lips and skin and him on her and in her. Gasping, she dragged Jaime to her until his lips hovered over hers. He looked at her, the green of his eyes a thin ring around the brilliant blackness of his pupils.

“Again,” he told her, his lips moving against her. His cock was warm and hard against her thigh. She was so damp and so hot between her legs.

She framed his face in her hands. “Jaime.”

He kissed her, soundly, deeply then whispered, “Again.”

_“Jaime—“_

This time, he took her lips in a consuming kiss, as if to drink from them to satisfy a long thirst. She rocked against him, rubbing her cunt against his thrusting cock. She despised the clothes between them but was loathed to part from him so they may be skin to skin.

Suddenly, Jaime turned so he was on his back and she was on top. Their lips clung to each other harder, tasting, seeking, wanting and needing. Brienne whimpered as he palmed her ass through her pants first before delving past the waistband to squeeze the bare, firm globes. Then it was his turn to gasp when she reached for him under his shorts and found him harder and a lot bigger than she expected. She smiled in between their kisses and he whispered, “Horny Agent Tarth.”

“What did you call me?

“Horny.”

She shook her head. He smirked. _“Agent Tarth.”_

Little sucking kisses were given to her throat as she continued rubbing his cock in his shorts. Jaime’s touches and kisses were urgent, greedy and rough but she liked it. She was not glass, will never be. She could take everything he would give her.

“Stop, Brienne, Gods,” Jaime groaned. “I—I can’t—I’m close—“

She shook her head and kept her hands around him. “Then come closer.”

He pulsed in her hand. She ran a finger down a thickening vein.

“Shit, this isn’t… _with you, I want with you_ —Gods—“Jaime’s gasp ended on a strangled note as he ejaculated in her fist, wetting her wrist and his shorts. His hips jerked frantically against her as he continued coming, the veins in his neck straining and jutting against the skin. Through it all she rubbed him and kissed him, whispering his name. 

Brienne wiped her hand on her t-shirt and dropped beside him. Still panting, Jaime turned to her. His face gleamed with sweat. His smile was drowsy. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

He could weep at her sincerity. He only had to look in her eyes to know she spoke the truth.

“Next time, it’s my turn.” His voice was low and seductive.

His smile widened as she blushed. “Next time?”

He kissed her. “I’ve never come that hard before. You’re a goddess, Brienne Tarth.”

Then he surprised her by wrapping his arms around her, tucking her head between his shoulder and chin. Then he took her hand—the hand that had made him come—and kissed her fingers and palm. He was gently nipping at her wrist when the door burst open.

Brienne jumped as Robb Stark stormed in, his jaw tight. Jaime held her fast to his chest and glared at him.

“Pack whatever you can,” Robb said, noting Brienne’s hand on Jaime’s cheek and Jaime’s arms around her waist, her leg draped over his thighs. His jaw tightened. “They’ve found us.”

“Who?” Brienne demanded as he turned to leave. She removed Jaime’s hands from her body. Her worst fears began to churn in her stomach in a sour pool.“Robb, who?”

“WCA. You have two minutes.” Robb glared at Jaime’s hands returning to her waist and gripping her. “Lannister better make it in one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all those terrible things, we needed a semi-smut breather.   
> And Oberyn!


	36. The Watch Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Robb,_ was Catelyn’s first thought and she felt guilty. But she was a mother and an agent, an agent and a mother. Neither came first. She was both. This was her burden and battle.

Jaqen had just pulled out the and towards the street at the back of Sin Rostro when they spotted the first of WCA agents sent for them. Seeing this, Robb, who was sitting in the front seat, ducked while Brienne pulled Jaime with her to the floor at the back. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, his elbow digging into her stitches, her knee pressed against his crotch. For one wild moment, Jaime thought of shoving her away and revealing himself. It would be freedom.

But that was freedom that would cost lives. He stared at Brienne’s profile—at her freckled cheek, the deep, long curve of her throat that was almost delicate if not for its muscled, thick length. There was no stopping the rush of heat that swept over him as he remembered nibbling at the skin there not too long ago. It was surprisingly soft, and her pulse was as frantic as a frightened doe’s. 

“I had to leave the computers behind,” Robb said, clearly hating himself. “They would have tracked us.”

“You gave us time,” Jaqen told him, driving calmly. There were still more WCA vans coming. 

“They would sweep for DNA.”

Brienne closed her eyes. “They’ll know it was us all along.”

Jaime tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “It will be alright.”

She opened her eyes then. Her body was warm under his. In the last few days, he had learned to distinguish this warmth from fever. The knowledge caused his cock, which was supposed to be sated after having found relief just moments ago, to twitch against her. He didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss her when her sapphires widened in surprise and outrage.

“Really?” She mouthed.

He gave a slight incline of his head. _Yes._

“I left them a little present,” Jaqen’s voice broke through their spell. “We have more time than you think.”

“What do you mean?” Brienne asked, reluctantly turning away from Jaime. 

“Can we get back to our seats?” Robb asked Jaqen. 

“Not yet. Probably best to stay low until we know where we’re headed.”

“No safehouses,” Brienne said, sounding breathless. He cupped her cheek and she kissed his palm. Her lips were a warm, soft tickle that had him catching his breath. Was it ever like this with Cersei? He only knew the difference: tenderness. 

“We can’t go to my Dad,” Robb said. 

“Sin Rostro’s the only place I have. They’ll do a DNA sweep but it will take them some time to identify us. But they’ll know my involvement,” Jaqen sounded worried for the first time.

“I know one place. It’s not under my name. And the only other person who knows of it is Catelyn. Besides me,” Brienne told them. “Jaqen, head for the port.”

“Where are we going?” Robb asked, peering at her from behind his seat.

Brienne took a deep breath. It was a place she never thought to set foot again. Too many memories. She had been happy there once, a long time ago.

“Skagos.”

Suddenly, sirens screamed from a distance. Jaqen laughed. “Ah. Reinforcements. Just stay down, everyone. To Skagos we go.”

 

While Robb, Brienne, Jaime and Jaqen were in a frenzy taking whatever they needed and could with WCA forces practically breathing down their necks, Catelyn was staring at the soft, gray eyes of her husband Ned. Often hard as stone when in meetings with President Tyrell and other military advisers, right now they were almost as misty as a fog over a calm sea. It would be strange, if not for her familiarity with it, this warmth slowly overtaking her body from the inside. As an operative she had spent many years with sweat warm at her back before it chilled as she peered through a rifle scope and got ready to squeeze the trigger. It was akin to fever. But what she felt around Ned when he looked at her like that called to mind the slow steam rising from a cup of coffee, or the gentle crackling of fire. 

Bran was away for a student leaders’ convention. He was student council president and had been admitted to the Political Science program of Winterfell University, where he would be going next fall. Rickon, who played varsity soccer, was in the Riverlands for a championship game in three days. Since it would be just she and Ned for a while, they had given the servants several days off. 

“We should have more mornings like this,” Ned told Catelyn, giving her a small smile when he noticed her gazing at him. His suit jacket, black and decorated with his stars and medals, was carefully draped on the chair beside him. He wore a shirt white as winter and a black, clipped tie. 

“We just have to wait a little longer, my love,” Catelyn said.

They were in the kitchen having their breakfast. Catelyn, the earlier riser between them, had baked blueberry muffins, cooked sausage fritatatas and made the coffee. They were Ned’s favorites and she liked doing them for a change. She missed the early years of their marriage where it was just the two of them, in a small house, and she had to balance between making love to her husband, making pot roast for dinner and putting a bullet in the head of people working against Westeros. They were difficult yet at the same time, surprisingly easy. 

“So, we can’t talk about work because we’ll be betraying our respective employers,” Ned mused, patting his lips dry with a cloth napkin. “I can’t ask about how you’re favouring one side of your body because I know you don’t want me to know. What do we talk about, hmm?”

Catelyn smiled. Ned, with his thick, dark hair now graying at the temples and his somber eyes often wore a severe, unyielding expression on his face. Close friends and family called him Ned but those who feared him, and had a right to, whispered he was Ice. A northman, Ned’s sense of duty and honor was steadfast and as unbreakable as The Wall at the border of Winterfell. He was reserved except around family. With them, his gray eyes sparkled, and his weather-beaten face almost always wore a smile.

“Work is so boring. How about you seduce me with talk about possible renovations in the house?” Catelyn joked. Ned chuckled. She slapped him on his thick, muscular shoulder. “I’m serious.”

“What would you like done this time around?”

Before Catelyn could speak, her cellphone rang from her bag. Ned’s laugh was louder, filling the house. As Catelyn muttered under her breath about wanting to disappear, she grabbed the offending device. Jon Snow, the screen flashed. She didn’t have to tell Ned who was calling, and he knew. 

“Take it, besides I can’t be late for the president,” Ned said, kissing her on the cheek before he stood up. He put on his jacket then buttoned it, taking his cap from the table as he left. 

Catelyn answered. “Catelyn Stark—“

“We have a problem,” Jon sounded as if he was on the road, judging from the sound of traffic from his line. “They know, Cat. They’ve found out. I just got work they’re off to Seed Street.”

Curse the Seven. “How? Why?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’m going underground. You should too. I tried calling them but the line’s been disconnected.”

_Robb,_ was Catelyn’s first thought and she felt guilty. But she was a mother and an agent, an agent and a mother. Neither came first. She was both. This was her burden and battle.

“We have to assume they know too and got out,” she told Jon. “Dump this phone. Disappear. Do not leave any trace for me to find you.”

“And you?”

“I’m the director of the Golden Company, Jon. Do as I say. Now.”

And she hung up. 

She stood up and started disassembling her phone. She dropped the sim card in the sink’s shredder. As she did so, Ned got in his car in the garage. He waved goodbye at her and Catelyn responded in kind, smiling at him through the grills of the window. 

 

WCA agents jumped out of their vans at the same moment that fire trucks zoomed down the road and to their horror, parked by Sin Rostro Tailoring. Oberyn, leading the team, yanked off his mask and strode towards the firemen. Despite being clearly armed, they blocked him and sternly ordered him to stay away.

“You can’t go further.”

“I have to go there!”

“You can’t go in until we’ve cleared the area. Stay behind,” he was told as a tape was being stretched around the area. People from other shops and apartments were beginning to look out their windows or from the door. “Or I’ll have you arrested.” 

Oberyn punched the air. “Shit! Shit!”

He stormed back to his men. “Fall back.” 

Clever sons of bitches, he thought.

 

Jaqen had them dump the car five blocks away from the sea. The three agents and their hostage leaped out. Brienne, who had managed to grab a hat on their way out of the shop, pulled it down her head. She was wearing a tan jacket, a pale blue t-shirt, gray track pants and her dirty boots. The cap hid her hair and features. Jaime grabbed her shoulders and pressed her to his body as they followed Jaqen and Robb.

They all stared straight ahead as they walked. Jaqen pulled his long hair back in a ponytail and hid half his face behind sunglasses. He was dressed in head-to-toe denim, a faded green t-shirt and sneakers. Robb grabbed a cap from one of the street shops they passed by, doffing it to hide his thick, dark curls. 

Though summer was approaching, the breeze from the sea was still cool and soon, Jaime was shivering in spite of the warmth from Brienne’s body. He was wearing only a t-shirt. His beard had grown thick and was unkempt, his hair tangled in spite of regular showers. He was still strikingly, maddeningly attractive, Brienne thought, frowning as a brunette smiled at him. Jaime, for his part, ignored the admiring glance. She grabbed a fisherman’ hat from another stall and slammed it hard on his head. 

“Come on now, I didn’t look at her,” he told her, winking at her.

“She might recognize you,” she said, lowering her head to hide her blush at her jealousy.

Jaime would laugh at her reaction but they were moving fast. He settled for kissing her hand. It still smelled faintly of him. 

“How do you plan to get us to Skagos, Brienne?” Robb asked. He was walking slightly ahead of them with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Renly and I have a boat at the marina,” Brienne answered, her cheeks flaring to a dark pink. Sure enough, the men turned to look at her. Jaime’s grip on her waist tightened. She winced and he loosened his hold but not by a lot. Jaqen looked confused but Robb’s face cleared.

“So it’s true,” he said, more to himself than to them.

“It’s not under either of our names. It’s maintained well and it’s fast. We’ll be in Skagos in no time,” Brienne said furiously, hating that she was getting warm all over in spite of the layers of clothes she wore. She narrowed her eyes at Robb. “We’ve never endangered anyone in our missions in spite of our relationship.”

“I never thought that, Brienne.”

“Then stop staring at me like that. I loved him. We fucked.” She glared at Jaime next, daring him to let go of her. “I have no regrets. Get over it. Can we continue?”

Robb shrugged and turned away. Jaqen fell into a step beside him. Brienne started to shift away from Jaime but he grabbed her fast. His arms dugs in her ribs. They didn’t hurt but she’d punch him in the face if he continued looking at her like that, his expression tight, his eyes sharp and hard. But they were in public. They’d draw attention if she cracked her fist against his pretty face—

Jaime grabbed her chin and kissed her roughly. Her mouth easily yielded in shock and he pushed his tongue past her lips, tangling with her own tongue. She gasped and clung at the collar of his shirt, unsure whether to grab him or push him away. 

“Jaime,” she managed to say, breaking away before he claimed her mouth again, snarling as he did. “Jaime, please—“

He yanked at her hair, tipping her neck toward his lips. He sucked at the skin. Terrified that they’ll get noticed, she grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him away from her. He locked his arms around her waist again. Pressed tightly to each other, there was no mistaking the familiar hardness pressed against her thigh.

He looked like a lion intent on a kill.

“Jaime,” she licked lips. They felt swollen and bruised. He breathed against her mouth. “Jaime, you don’t have to come with us—“

“The hell I don’t. What is it? You don’t want to fuck me in the bed you shared with Renly? Then you’ll fuck me elsewhere. Fuck me on the rocks for all I care. I’m not leaving you.”

“What—why? _Why?_ ” Her confusion made her even more uglier but he held her fast.

“What do you think will happen to me, Blue, huh? You think Viserys won’t kill me? Or what my father might do to me for working with him?”

“Oh.”

Jaime shook her, wanting to yell at her for being a huge dolt. “What do you think will happen to you when the WCA gets their hands on me? I’m supposed to be dead. You just told me where you’re going. I don’t have your training to resist, Blue. They’ll have the truth from me in no time. Much as I hate roughing it, me being a Lannister used to nothing but luxury, I’m protecting you, you idiot. I’m not leaving you. You took me and now you’ll have to bear the consequences. I’ve had enough torture and mindfuckery to last a couple of lifetimes.”

“Jaime—“

“I will have no regrets, if that’s what worries you.”

She shook her head and tried again. _“Jaime—“_

“Shit. Every time you say my name I want to take you. But not now, yes? Not now.”

He cupped her face in his hands. His expression was fierce, making her insides quiver. “I won’t have those astonishing blues wiped from this earth, Brienne. _Not on my watch,_ ” he told her gently. “I swear to you.”

Her mouth fell open at his vow. Jaime took advantage and kissed her again, groaning as she kissed him back, eagerly, once, twice, three times, before she grabbed his hand. Together they ran after the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a Ned and Catelyn scene.


	37. Manhunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His training told him to ignore them, that this was the life they all chose and the consequences drummed in their skulls from day one. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t. 
> 
> ____
> 
> YAY! Two chapters in one day! More favorite characters--that's right, CHARACTERS--are returning starting in this chapter. I look forward to your comments because they are all diamonds. Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts! Kisses!

The fire Jaqen had left behind did its job, but not completely. When firefighters stormed into the shop, they found laptops ablaze, the microwave left on and spinning as well as the gas ranges lit up—triggering the smoke alarm that was connected to the fire department. Oberyn cursed clever sons of bitches but quickly realized that while everyone, cops and fire marshals were busy in front of the shop, no one was going behind it, in the alley. 

He didn’t have another agent do the job, he did it himself. As he had suspected, there stood a lone dumpster. He lifted it open and let out a laugh of triumph. There, he found blood-soaked bandages and clothes crusted with dirt and more blood. He immediately ordered an evidence team to gather them. It might be inconclusive, it might be something. There was no way they could storm the tailoring shop now, not for hours and certainly not without alerting the authorities and the public. The bandages and the clothes were quickly sent to the lab for analysis.

Jon, immediately on Catelyn’s instructions, disassembled his phone. He plucked out the sim card, folding it and crumpling it before tossing out of the car window. He dumped his phone a mile later. If WCA were still approaching Sin Rostro, he still had some time. He sped down the highway all the way to Westeros International. In the parking garage, he left his car. Then he proceeded to one of the car rental agencies, using one of the fake identities he always had on hand. He used the rental car to drive back to the road he had taken, Kingsroad, which would also take him out of King’s Landing. He would keep on his road on his drive to Winterfell.

It was going to be a long drive. As he did, Jon tossed away his credit cards and other forms of identity that could be linked to him. He was ever ready and had an armful of other identities with him on hand, because you never knew. This situation was one of those.

Two hours since Catelyn’s phone call, he veered away from the Kingsroad and towards some back roads. If the WCA wanted him, they would have found him by now. His other identities were solid but there were still traffic cameras, surveillance cameras. They only had to upload his face and have every camera in the city looking for him. It wouldn’t do to have been given such an early head start only to be snared so easily. He will return to the Kingsroad later, at night. It was a twelve-hour drive to Winterfell, after all.

As he drove on curving roads, some rough and rugged with dirt, others smooth, he thought of his team. His training told him to ignore them, that this was the life they all chose and the consequences drummed in their skulls from day one. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t. 

His thoughts went to Brienne. They were partners when Renly was alive and had not been too happy at being switched, she with Robb and he with Daario. These changes were unwelcome but they had remained close, and in his eyes, she was family he never had. Tough, by-the-book Agent Brienne Tarth could be intimidating with her size and those eyes of hers that were more brilliant than a fistful of sapphires but he had seen her gentler side. Away from work, though she hardly ever was, she wore more smiles on her face that she could be almost lovely. He was the only person, aside from Catelyn, to know her relationship with Renly. She had confided in him about it, sharing her fears and worries about letting someone in when she knew how to only keep people out. 

He had been the one to pick her up from the bathroom floor shortly after her return when she went rogue. Wanting only to check on her, he quickly knew something was up when his knocks went unanswered. He had to use the key she had given him. He found her sobbing on the floor. He stayed with her the entire night, pulling her head to his lap where she cried until all tears were squeezed from her eyes. 

He hated Renly then. Hated the man for dying and leaving her in this state. Brienne, he learned, would survive bullets in the chest, knives in vital parts of her body, the physical brutality that came with being an operative but one strike to her heart destroyed her. Renly Baratheon had destroyed her when he forced himself into her life and left her.

Jon suspected that Robb read this in Brienne, else his protectiveness for his partner that at times appeared to be excessive. Robb respected Brienne’s strength but when her heart came into play, he always felt like throwing himself in the line of fire she had innocently put it in. In the beginning Jon didn’t like Robb, thinking that he got the job due to the power of the Stark name, not the skills. His opinion changed in the aftermath of the near-diplomatic disaster Daario had brought when he refused to follow Robb’s orders to abort. 

Jon had reached a level of anger so volcanic he was driven to kill a man but Robb literally pushed him out of the line and attacked Daario in the hospital. That was the day everyone found out that he not only knew how to shoot at an impossible target, his fists landed right where they should. He should have stopped the brawl but Daario deserved having some of his teeth knocked out, his nose broken and his lung punctured. Even if he was Jon’s partner, Jon had never been able to forgive him for what his actions did to Brienne.

With the impending disaster of their latest mission that had yet to see an end, Jon found comfort that at least Robb and Brienne were together, and with them, Catelyn’s former handler Jaqen, who clearly still had a couple of tricks up his sleeve. The blot was Jaime Lannister.

He was no Renly, definitely not the man Jon thought that would have Brienne googly-eyed but that was exactly what was happening. If Brienne wasn’t being protective of their prisoner, their prisoner was hurling all kinds of verbal assaults to provoke her. When neither was around each other, they somehow managed to rope the other in a conversation. Brienne had been upset upon finding out that Jaime had been dosed with Nightshade. It slowed the heartbeat and was very dangerous. She had volunteered to stay by his side until he woke, disbelieving Jaqen’s assurances that the man was very much alive.

It was both easy and difficult to read the interactions between Jaime and Brienne. He clearly enjoyed riling her up and she knew how to fling it back to him in unexpected ways. Despite their open hostility, Jaime seemed to come alive when it was Brienne’s shift with him. Brienne, often quiet, tend to speak more around him. There were times when they argued like a cranky, old married couple, if not for the gun Brienne wore at her hip and Jaime’s chains.

Then came the night of their bloody encounter with the Sons of Harpy.

Four days alone with Jaime Lannister was punishment that would probably drive the undead Night’s King of legend to wish himself to splinter into bits of ice and dust. He was maddening, infuriating, childish—it was a miracle Brienne had not put a bullet in him. 

Jaime had reacted like a lion maimed and very much wanting to pay the same favour to those responsible when he saw the state Brienne was in. He had struggled against the chains that limited his movements, yanking at them despite the futility of the act. As soon as he was free, he had run to Brienne. Although it looked like he was ready to punch Robb, Catelyn and Jaqen for what had happened. He and Robb almost came to blows. That would have been something to see—the scientist versus the lethal agent.

Jaime worked swiftly and efficiently, both shooting insults and jokes at Brienne, who vowed to castrate him as soon as she was walking. When the time came to stitch up Brienne’s stab wound, it fell on Jon. Jaime knew how bodies work and what to do but Jon knew more and better, not to mention that he had stitched up a comrade or two during a mission gone awry. Then there was also the fact that Brienne had twenty pounds on him. There was no way he could hold her down. 

The Milk of the Poppy may have dulled the pain but it didn’t make Brienne immune from it, judging from her screams of agony as Jon pushed needle and thread into skin over and over. Jaime had to practically stretch out his entire body on her lest she end up dislodging Jon and hurting herself. 

Since that night, Jaime had all but appointed himself as Brienne’s personal knight. He refused to leave her side, growled and had to restrain himself from yelling at anyone who tried to convince him to rest and let somebody take over for a while. Painkillers had drugged Brienne but they didn’t protect her from the nightmares she was having—those screams that Jaime starred in were definitely not the sweetest dreams. 

_The Seven Protect them,_ he prayed, yet also wondered how these words could shield them from a hail of bullets. 

 

After one hour, Jon found himself in a small town. He visited once a year to check on his place here. It was located in the outskirts, definitely out of the way and it was exactly as he liked it. Soon he spotted the sign announcing that Kingsman Storage was just five miles away. 

Once he arrived in the storage unit that housed his, he unlocked it and pushed up the folding steel door. A flick of the lights showed that this was no storage room but a work station for end-of-the-world scenarios. Judgement Day, he thought, wiping dust off a computer as he entered.  
No one knew of this, not even Brienne, whom he trusted above all. But the computers and monitoring the world was not his concern at the moment. Jon strode to safety deposit box and punched in several codes before it clicked open.

He took passports and money. He had other IDs on him but you never knew when you suddenly had to abandon your car or worse, end up in some hellhole. He also changed out of his suit and into a worn,black leather jacket, sweater, faded jeans and hiking boots. He thumbed through the money, checking if he had enough, more than enough. As he continued taking stuff he might need, he turned on a radio and switched it to the news.

He paused in his task as the broadcast announced three names he knew very well: Catelyn Stark, director of a black ops division for the WCA, was now in custody, the authorities were still looking for rogue agents Robb Stark and Brienne Tarth, the latter wanted for the kidnapping of Lannister heir and Targaryen Industries wonder boy Jaime Lannister.

“Bloody Seven Hells,” Jon swore and quickly finished. He wiped off his fingerprints and locked up.

He ran to his car when he noticed that another had parked right behind it, effectively blocking his exit. Jon quickly pulled out his gun as the driver’s side of the car responsible opened. A man with long dark hair and broad shoulders stepped out.

“I’m ready to die,” he declared. “Are you?”

“Come on, Jon,” came the mocking, familiar laugh of Daario Naharis, “is that any way to greet your partner?”

Recovering quickly from his surprise, Jon retorted, “No. This is.”

And pulled the trigger. 

 

Done with his second class of the day, Selwyn Tarth looked forward to a cup of coffee to revive him so he may return to checking some student papers in his office before his next. He stepped out of the room and that when he spotted two gentlemen who were clearly waiting for him outside the lecture hall. They were not discreet, quickly approaching him as soon as he was out of the classroom. But Duncan Tall, the captain of the local force and an old friend, held up a hand and stopped them. 

Selwyn waited for Duncan to reach him. “What seems to be the matter?”

Duncan looked grim. “They’re WCA, Sel. They want to question you.” He was not looking forward to being the bearer of bad news. “It’s about your daughter.”

Alarmed, Selwyn addressed the gentlemen, “What’s happened to my Brienne?” 

“Sir, we’d like you to answer some questions regarding your daughter, Agent Brienne Tarth,” one of the man told him. He was slim but looked strong despite his bulky black suit. “If you could come with us.”

“Hold on,” Duncan said, putting his tall, massive form between his friend and the agents. “This is a national security problem, I get that, but Professor Tarth here is under my jurisdiction. You can’t just take him with you. Is he under arrest?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t just take him.”

“I have nothing to hide, Dunk, thank you. But whatever it is that they believe involves Brienne is untrue, I’m sure of it. I know my daughter.” Selwyn sounded firm but he was startled at how one of the men in black had called her. Agent Brienne Tarth.

“Then we’ll question him at the station,” the agent said, unfazed. “For your daughter’s safety, Professor Tarth, we hope you will cooperate and tell us nothing but the truth.”

“Of course I will. And whatever you suspect my daughter of, she didn’t do it. You put that in your damn report,” Selwyn said. Old as he may be, with the beginnings of a stoop, his blue stare was clear and steady and his voice was the boom of a thunder of an impending storm. He looked at the agents in the eye as he spoke, daring them to cross him. 

Then he offered them his hand. "I'm Selwyn Tarth of House Tarth,"he said before adding his house words, "Sure as the tide."


	38. Go Pull That Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not all, Howland. You’ve been keeping tabs on him even when he was being mentored by Arthur Deyne. You’ve been eyeing the Lannisters for years. And the Targaryens.You probably know more about them than they do with themselves.” Catelyn’s eyes hardened. “You knew what’s been happening to that girl all these years and you’ve done nothing.”  
> _____  
> More characters will be returning!

The next morning, King’s Landing and the surrounding cities were abuzz with news of rogue agents Brienne Tarth and Robb Stark on the run with their hostage, Jaime Lannister, as well as the arrest of division director Catelyn Stark, wife of General Eddard Stark, one of President Olenna Tyrell’s senior advisers. 

News outlets all over delivered different versions of the events. In Highgarden, the presidential residence, Tyrell’s communication officer Yara Greyjoy fielded questions. She commanded the room, looking at the bloodhound reporters in the eye as she spoke. No one dared interrupt her. Yara was infamous for removing reporters from the Highgarden correspondents’ list when they did that. She would also go as far as banning the publication the reporter was associated with from interviewing Olenna Tyrell. 

Talisa Maegyr was watching this broadcast as she sat in a coffeeshop one block from Targaryen Industries. This was where she went every morning before work. It was close enough that she didn’t have to rush through her breakfast, which always consisted a cup of latte with an extra shot of caramel and an onion bagel. 

One of the customers must have requested a channel change because Yara Greyjoy’s narrow, big-nosed face disappeared and was replaced by the more attractive Missandei. It was from Westeros Fashion Network. Talisa rolled her eyes as Missandei walked the viewers through Jaime Lannister’s sartorial style through the years with misplaced and even inappropriate gushing over his god-like looks. She was relieved when the channel change continued. 

She had just brought the coffee to her lips when the change stopped just as the screen filled with Ramsay Bolton’s face. Talisa choked, coughing and sputtering, drawing the curious eyes of the other customers as she hastily patted her sweater dry. She continued watching as the reporter explained that Robb Stark ( _a.k.a. Ramsay Bolton!_ ) was wanted for questioning regarding the disappearance of Jaime Lannister, whose whereabouts remain unknown. “The public is warned that Robb Stark, and his associate, Brienne Tarth, may be armed and extremely dangerous. If they are sighted, please call the police immediately. Again, the public is cautioned against approaching Robb Stark and Brienne Tarth. They may be armed and are extremely dangerous.” 

Talisa dropped some bills on the table and gathered her things. She pulled out her phone, pressed the single digit that speed-dialled an important number. It was answered on the second ring.

“I’m so sorry to call so early,” she said breathlessly, narrowly missing getting dinged on the forehead by the swinging door of the coffee shop. She pushed it open and started charging down the street. “But I have reason to believe that Targaryen Industries was infiltrated. I have proof. . .What? Yes. I’m in Blackfyre Avenue, the coffeeshop at the corner of Blackfyre and Aegon Drive. . .Oh. Sure. Yes. Okay. I’ll be there.”

Talisa stood by the bus stop, clutching her phone and her purse. Her big brown eyes darted up and down the street, looking out for the car. Then she saw it. 

It was black but gleamed red in the sun. It stopped in front of her and the backdoor opened. 

“Get in,” Viserys Targaryen told her. 

She ducked her head and slid in beside him, shutting the door beside her. Viserys’ violet eyes bored on her. They gleamed with barely restrained menace. She almost shrank back in her seat and shivered when the locking mechanism of the door clicked shut. No way out. 

“Start from the beginning, Talisa,” he said. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Like her father, Cersei was an early riser and got to work much earlier than staff. But unlike Tywin, who was definitely helping himself to his soft-boiled egg and orange juice right this very minute, she looked mad enough to actually literally bite off the head of anyone who got between them. The guards stationed at his office leaped out of the way as the self-proclaimed lioness of Lannister stormed down the blood-red hallway.   
Cersei shoved the heavy lacquered doors open. Once she spotted Tywin’s head bent over his egg, she stomped to his desk. 

“How are you stuffing your face when your own son, your heir, has been with rogue government agents all this time? Your money, those fucking Cats, they were supposed to find out first, it was supposed to be quiet. Instead what we have is this shit circus and no trace of Jaime!”

Her face was murderous as Tywin calmly tapped his lips dry with a cloth napkin, laying it carefully on the gold tray before he looked at her. His facial expression inquired if there was more she wanted to say.

Cersei bit her lip.

“Good,” he said, nodding at her silence. “When a lion roars it is to assert who he is, mighty and powerful. Hysteria does not make a roar.”

“What do you plan to do,” Cersei spoke through gritted teeth.

“I intend to speak to Olenna,” Tywin said, speaking as if they were conversing about the weather. Cersei wanted to scream and throw things at him. “The government’s interest in Jaime is troubling, more so that he’s at the hands of rogue agents. This endangers our alliance.”

Cersei couldn’t stop the little chirp of triumph. Marry Loras Tyrell, indeed. She would have better luck seducing a horse. Actually, he would much rather have the horse than she, that fucking pillow biter.

“But I am not keen on ending it at this point.”

“What? The Tyrells have betrayed us. You will willingly give your daughter to such a family?”

Tywin let out a long-suffering sigh. “I will need to hear what Olenna knows first before I decide.”

“Don’t you mean we decide? This is my life you’re bargaining with.”

“My dear daughter, you have no idea what to do with your life. You were abysmal as a student, you’ve never worked outside of this company, you’ve never been able to keep a serious relationship. You know nothing. Someone must make your decisions for you.”

“I can think for myself, thank you very much. I want out of the engagement. That family had my—my brother kidnapped.”

“If you don’t marry Loras, I’ll disinherit you. Simple as that. You lose your company shares and the life you know that is made possible by my life.”   
“I am not a broodmare. I’m your daughter. I’m the vice-president of this company!”

“Vice-president for marketing. The vice-president is your Uncle Kevan.”

“Did it ever occur to you that every time you talked of family and legacy to me, Jaime and that abomination that is the imp, I was the only listening? That I’ve lived my life doing as you bid because I’ve taken your lessons to heart?”

“You are dedicated, I grant you that. But you are short-sighted and quick-tempered.”

“And Jaime isn’t? Jaime who spent his life surrounded by test tubes and lab rats? Who has cut off all ties with you—he’s still your heir?”  
Cersei slammed her hands down the table and leaned towards Tywin, glaring at him. “I have bled for this family and the thanks I get is being shipped off to marry that pretty little Loras.”

His eyes were unblinking. “Jaime is my son.”

“I’m your daughter! I’m here! Why won’t you see me?”

“You are seen, Cersei. The problem is you are so desperate to be seen that it ends whatever further interest may be there for you. A lion doesn’t demand but commands.” Tywin remained cool throughout her outburst. “That is not you.” 

“All your talk of legacy has done nothing to further the line,” Cersei seethed. “Jaime has refused to have anything to do with you since you shipped off that little monster to Mossovy to die. You won’t let me marry who I choose, have not asked me if I even want to marry. You’ve used me as a currency to climb higher and higher the ladder of success but you’ve never paid. You’re making me pay now with this shit of a marriage to a man who will be more interested being mounted by a horse than me.” 

“Are you telling me that Loras Tyrell is one man who is immune to what, uh, charms you’ve always freely given to others?”

“How dare you.”

“Your proclivities are as well-known as his, daughter,” Tywin mocked the last word. When Cersei’s face remained impassive though her heart had stilled at his declaration, he continued, “You think I know nothing about what you’ve been doing all this time?”

“What have you come to know, really, other than I am more than willing to see things through?” 

For the first time ever in her life, Cersei witnessed the flash of emotion on her father’s face. Tywin wiped his mouth again seeming distaste before throwing down the napkin. He glared at her.

“This interest in your brother, while touching, is rooted in perversion and corruption.”

Cersei kept her expression bland. “Oh? To love him is such?”

“You will cease this inappropriate interest in him or not only will I end the engagement with Loras Tyrell, I will also remove you from all Lannister interests. You will have your name besmirched and you will be left with nothing. Do not cross me, daughter. You may be willing to fight dirty but I know how to fight. I will hang you if need be. Your shame will follow you until the last of your days.” 

Father and daughter regarded each other coldly, one, with the practiced ease of a warrior ready to strike at any time, the other burning, struggling through the red haze to see straight. Cersei’s hand trembled as she struggled from lashing out. 

“If you disinherit me, your legacy ends,” she whispered, down to her last bullet.

“You forget that I will be getting Jaime back,” Tywin answered. He waved her away, the motion elegant and dismissive. “Go. Leave my sight. Do not come to my office again without a summons from me.” 

 

It was the mechanical clicks of codes being punched in the door that roused Catelyn Stark from a restless sleep. Slowly, she raised her head from her arms slumped on the table. White lights flared in the room, burning her bleary eyeballs. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, frowning at the crusty bits at the edges as she straightened up to meet her first guest.

Spine straight, elegant, she inclined her head. “Howland. So good of you to come.”

Howland Reed entered the room. His mud-green eyes looked milky in the brilliance of the room. He stood by the door, not making another step as he looked at her. 

Catelyn knew her hair was wild, that the lines on her face were deep without the aid of make-up. She was still in yesterday’s clothes, but her black jacket was discarded in order for her to be handcuffed to the table, leaving her only in a black vest, her pants. Her shoes had been removed too so her ankles could be chained to the chair. Her watch, the silver necklace where a small trout pendant hung, her rings, had been removed. She did not know how long she had been locked up in the interrogation room of the Golden Company.

Her back was sore and her ass numb from being seated for too long yet these were very minor discomforts to her—they were cricks, as far as she was concerned. She could use a sip of water, but that was the only problem. Catelyn’s eyes followed Howland as he pulled up a chair from under the table she was chained to and sat down. He met her stare.

“We can end this, Cat,” he said without preamble.

“If I know where my agents are, I still won’t tell you,” she replied. “But as it is, I don’t know where they are. You won’t be getting anything from me.”  
“Think of Ned, for crying out loud. Your children.”

“Every minute. Everyday.”

“The news says your team kidnapped Jaime Lannister.”

“That was expected.”

“It’s an expected consequence. What happened? You were only supposed to question him and eliminate Wildfyre and all its traces.”

“Ah, but Howland, we were supposed to have removed all pertaining to Wildfyre all those years ago. You didn’t think to inform us research and development continued in spite of torching that lab. You’ve done nothing but hide secrets from us, Howland. Not to mention that asset of yours has not been very cooperative.”

“It takes a lot to press Jaime Lannister.”

“Time we would not have wasted and would most likely have avoided this fuckery if you had told us from the beginning what you knew.”  
“That wasn’t possible. The Wildfyre Plot was only between me and him. It couldn’t be known by more people else he’ll in danger. And he still is, Catelyn. You got him out. The Seven only knows where your agents are hiding him. But there is a leak in the WCA.”

She shrugged. “You’ve eliminated Daario Naharis.”

“Not him.”

His tone indicated he refused to say more. “And you’re not going to tell me.”

“Not until I’m sure.”

“All the certainty you’ve exercised so far has led to less than ideal repercussions, Howland.”

“I have to disagree.”

“My agents. I need to know that you will ensure they are safe and unharmed.”

“I have no control over that, Cat.”

“What about the Lannisters? Viserys Targaryen?”

“President Tyrell has summoned me. I will have to tell her the truth, Catelyn.”

“And what’s that?”

“The truth. Wildfyre. Jaime’s recruitment. Why he’s really with your team. She’s the president, don’t look at me like that. I can’t lie to her.”

“It’s your lies that’s cost us time and men—“

“Nobody has died.”

“Yet,” Catelyn growled, sounding and looking like the wolf she had become through the years. “No more lies, Howland. Tell me everything. You can see that I’m in position to run off anywhere or strangle you,” she added dryly, gesturing at her bound state.

“I do have one question.”

“I know what you’re going to ask.”

“Really?”

She prompted him, “So. Ask.”

“The codes. Oberyn Martell’s codes. How did you get them? Why did you believe you had to access the system like that? You asked me for all files regarding Jaime and I gave them.”

“Not all, Howland. You’ve been keeping tabs on him even when he was being mentored by Arthur Deyne. You’ve been eyeing the Lannisters for years. And the Targaryens.You probably know more about them than they do with themselves.” Catelyn’s eyes hardened. “You knew what’s been happening to that girl all these years and you’ve done nothing.”

Howland didn’t even try denying it. “Those are classified. Again, you only asked for Jaime’s.”

“And it wasn’t enough. Given how you’ve never been the sharing sort, I had to do what was needed.”

“You willingly committed a crime that compromised our national security.”

“Our national security is compromised by the very fact that Wildfyre is just waiting for the highest bidder. That it’s only because my team still has Jaime Lannister why it’s still not out there. Westerosi and Essosi relations will implode all because you don’t trust the Golden Company.”

“And you’ve just proven why I shouldn’t.”

“You manipulated us and we fell right into it. You’re not the patriot you believe yourself to be, you son of a bitch.” 

“You’re so focused on what’s right you’ve blinded yourself on things that have to be done in order to secure the state of things. Diplomacy, ceasefire, pah. We’re still at war, Catelyn, hiding behind words and fucking contracts. That’s all that’s stopping us. War brings casualties. If stopping it means sacrificing the lives of your team and Jaime Lannister, then that’s the choice I’ll make, rather than thousands.”

“It is not for you to make that choice. That’s the president’s.”

“And she will be taking my advice.”

When Catelyn looked smug, Howland said, “Ned’s being edged out of the council as we speak.”

She lurched toward him, hissing. “The Seven fuck you, Howland.” 

“You first.”

“You’re no hero. You’re nothing but a man who’s held too many secrets for so long you’ve lost yourself. You’re a headless chicken going off nowhere and everywhere. Fine. Have my husband removed. Keep me down here. My son will most likely die and so will Brienne. They are ready to die. As am I. Are you?”

“Your anger is only temporary. You will soon see this is the right thing to do.”

“What’s right and wrong has become gray and darker! Get yourself off your fucking ergonomic chair, you fool, and see what’s going on. The Sons of Harpy are still mobilizing and want to get their hands on Wildfyre. The Cleganes want it. Boros Blount. Mandon Moore. Every criminal and terrorist organization is salivating over the prospect of owning it and unleashing fire and blood on Westeros and you’re still warming secrets and doling them out only when you believe it’s needed. Those secrets won’t save you, us, Howland. Slap me with treason. I don’t give a shit. I don’t care if anyone remembers me. I don’t care if my name’s besmirched. But you, you will be remembered for unwittingly engineering a war that will end everyone else.” 

“There will be no war,” Howland declared, unperturbed.

“But there will still be blood, yes? No, don’t answer that.” Catelyn spat at his shoes. “That’s what I think of your secrets, you fucking bastard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a hard time writing Howland Reed. Since he's just mentioned and hasn't really materialized in the books yet (or the show, unless that theory regarding the High Septon is right), there's a lot about him that I've had to invent, rather than just be a starting point or a deviation. Yet there is fun in that--I get to have my own Howland Reed. The character isn't mine, he's brilliant George RR Martin's. I do hope he gets a POV in the next two books. Let's all keep our fingers crossed!


	39. Unmasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck me hard, what’s wrong with you?”  
> “You were littering."

This was not part of the plan but in his opinion, plans always had a way of shitting so laying out what needed to be done and at what time could be pointless. Such as now.

Jon threw open the trunk of his rental car and pointed the gun at the groaning form of Daario Naharis.

“Fucking Seven Hells, Snow,” Daario growled, “I’m on your side. Why the hell did you shoot me?”

“That’s how I greet my partners,” Jon cocked the gun. “Sit.”

His face twisted in pain, Daario grunted as he heaved himself up to a sitting position. He was greasy and stank heavily of sweat and gunpowder. The right leg of his pants was soaked with blood from where Jon’s bullet had grazed him.

“At least you’re not that good a shot,” Daario said, moving his injured leg gingerly. “If it was that Stark Wolf he’d have blown off my balls.”

“I didn’t miss. That was where I intended to shoot you. But if you’re offering your balls for target practice I’d be more than willing to shoot them,” Jon shoved a bottle of water toward him. “Drink. Then you tell me what I want to know or I start shooting you.”

“I thought you were a nice guy, Snow,” Daario finished the entire bottle in one gulp. Sighing, he tossed the bottle away. 

Jon shot at his feet. The bullet ricocheted from the rocky forest floor and flew toward Daario’s foot. He screamed and flopped back in the trunk, rocking the car with his bulk and violent motions. “Fuck me hard, what’s wrong with you?”

“You were littering. Sit up. No one’s died from getting shot in the foot before,” Jon ordered. He cocked the gun again.

It was late afternoon already. He should be halfway to Winterfell, if not for this detour. Jon looked bored as Daario struggled to sit upright. His blood dripped to the ground. He slumped on his side on the car.

“You’ll be driving me to the hospital at some point, eh, Snow?”

“You can dig out the bullet yourself.” Jon snapped. “Q & A time, Sellsword. Why are you out? You were arrested.”

“That’s what Howland wanted you to think.”

“Howland Reed? The director?” Jon kept his grip on the gun steady in spite of being floored by the revelation.

“There’s a mole in the Golden Company, Jonny boy.” Daario told him, wincing as more blood soaked his shoe. “Uh, I really think you should get me to a hospital quick.”

“Put your fucking foot up. Tell me about this mole.” 

Daario groaned again but obeyed. “The Golden Company is being set up. For what, I don’t know. Yet. But Jaime Lannister and Wildfyre is just a small part of it. We’ve played right into that mysterious hand.” 

“Why should I trust one word out of you?”

“Have I given any reason not to be trusted?”

“Howland Reed isn’t exactly forthcoming. He’s been oddly protective with any information regarding you. That does not equal to trust, Sellsword.”  
“He didn’t want any information about me easily available because hacking through my file would trip up the mole. You and Brienne almost did that, checking up on me. At least you two had enough sense to back off when you saw it needed clearance. But not your little fat friend. That fucking Slayer.”

Jon was confused. _“Sam?”_

“Think. He’s our tech support. He knows the ins and outs. Knows more than you. He tried accessing my file several times. My file is a trigger. Now, it’s understandable you’d be curious but why keep hacking at it, I asked myself about the little fatso. I told Howland. Howland told that Martell guy to let him through. He was probably just a little too curious.” Daario slumped back. “Do you have a sandwich with you or a candy bar?”

“I’m not a babysitter, you moron. Continue.”

“So he got my file. Found out about my being a former general with the Sons of Harpy. That’s a lot of misguidance on my end—“

“Misguidance,” Jon breathed. “They’re crazed terrorists.”

“I told you. Misguidance. I was young. I was idealistic and impressionable. As soon as I figured out their agenda, I did everything possible to cut off all ties. I escaped and threw myself down the lobby of the Westeros embassy. Howland was there at the time. I told him everything I knew. Everything. Didn’t leave anything out.”

“People died from the Maidenvault bombings.”

“That was pinned on me. In retaliation for my escape. I was already in Westeros custody then.” 

“I still don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t. Hell, keep on shooting at me. But you should know that when Sam accessed my file, that’s when his fat-addled brain started clicking. I started watching him then. I didn’t know much about computers but Martell had me place a device in his laptop that tracked what he was downloading and to where. We almost shit ourselves when top-secret information was directly downloaded to servers in Targaryen Industries. Well, I almost shit in my pants. Martell wanted to play tonsil tennis. Told him I didn’t swing that way.”

“Say it again.”

“I told Oberyn Martell I don’t swing his way.”

Jon cocked his gun and aimed at Daario’s crotch. He quickly covered it.

“Alright! Sorry. Geez. Samwell Tarly, lovable, soft-spoken Sam the Slayer is a Targaryen mole. This bidding war between Blount and Clegane and Moore—he’s just jerking them off. Viserys is working with the Harpys. Once they get their hands on Wildfyre, they’re going to bomb strategic points all over Westeros, assassinate Tyrell and put dragon boy in power. That dragon wannabe wants to return to a time when everyone was an enemy and we only looked after ourselves. He intends to shut the gates of Westeros from the outside world.”

Jon shook his head and Daario sighed. “I speak the truth. I swear it.” He hung his head. “I wish that was it.”

“There’s more?”

“Unfortunately. Fuck, you’re not going to get me any medical help, are you?”

“Depends on what else you have to tell me.” 

“Well. I’ll start on your girlfriend. There’s a lot more to her than you think. Argh,” Daario groaned. “Seriously, man. This is quite a long tale, with many branches. I’m going to bleed out here unless you do something about my wound.”

Jon rolled his eyes. Then he holstered his gun, reached in his pocket and drew out a pair of tweezers and a lighter. He fed the little blades to the flames then held them to Daario.

Daario’s dirt-streaked face paled once he grasped what he must do.


	40. Skagos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s strange. We’ve kissed and convinced everyone we’re a couple on a lot of missions but when it comes to being ourselves to each other we’re. . .” His voice trailed off.  
> “Lost,” Brienne finished. He nodded. “Yes. We’re lost.”  
> “When you have to deceive people for a living, being honest is a challenge.”   
> “Not for you.”   
> _________________  
> Long chapter ahead. Your are rock stars for waiting and dropping a compliment or giving kudos. Thank you very much.

They dropped anchor two hours after sundown, according to Brienne’s watch. It had been a long journey, almost sleepy if not for how they monitored the radio religiously. They had to sneak Jaime on board so it was only their three names on the manifest, but fakes ones. Still, no matter how many leagues they would be putting between them and King’s Landing, they were still on borrowed time.

Before this last stop, they dropped by the Isle of Skane for supplies. Jaime, cranky from being cooped up all day despite pointing out that they were the only ones in the water, thought he could finally be let out. Robb was quick to disappoint him and relished the frown on the older man’s face at having to stay hidden for longer. The tension between them made Brienne want to scream. They were on the run, they had little money, and now there was this testosterone bullshit. It wasn’t jealousy on Robb’s part, she knew, but this peacock display between them was getting on her nerves. She took Jaqen with her to shop for some clothes and food. 

There were some clothes back at the stone house she had shared with Renly. But Renly was a good deal shorter than her and a lot closer to Robb’s size and build. Jaqen was taller at six feet but he was on the lean, rangy side, much like Jaime. Jaime was the tallest among the men at six-foot-two. Brienne still had some clothes there and she was still the same weight as she was from the last time she was in Skagos.

The island of Skagos was only an hour and forty minutes from Isle of the Skane, provided the winds were not too strong and the water not very choppy. The north was untamed and much of it remained unexplored due to its harsh weather conditions year-round. As night fell, Brienne had to raise the collar of her jacket and zip it all the way up to her chin, yet she still felt cold. 

Skagos was sparsely populated, with houses having miles and miles between them. In order to get the necessary supplies such as food and clothing, one needed a boat to make the journey to Skane. Now Skane had a population of almost twenty thousand. It was tight-knit community. She wanted to avoid making regular stops there so she and Jaqen all but cleared the shelves in the stores they visited. One clerk teased them about being on a honeymoon.

Jaqen grinned and put an arm around Brienne. “Eternally.”

As Robb and Jaqen got their bags, Brienne climbed below deck. Jaime was sprawled on the narrow cot, dozing away. 

He was curled up in a tight ball, looking rumpled and tired. Asleep, his face relaxed, making him look much younger, almost boyish if not for the beard he had begun to grow. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him and she remembered how his pupils had blown, his breathless gasps of her name as he came in her hand earlier. He had looked surprised and delighted at once and she wondered, there was no stopping from going there, she wondered if his sister-lover had given him the same pleasure. If she was greedy on top of giving him a twisted idea of love and desire. I want with you, he said. 

Brienne gently shook him on the shoulder. “Jaime. We’re here. Jaime.”

He sighed, turning toward her. He blinked up at her and frowned. “Hey.”

“Skagos. Let’s go. You can get out now.” 

She started to straighten up when he suddenly grabbed her, sending her toppling down to him. Before she could protest, he caught her face in his large hand and kissed her. 

It was not a lazy, touching kiss. It was hungry and possessive and stamped with _want, want, want._ Brienne caught her breath as Jaime laced his fingers through her limp hair as he pressed her mouth deeper to his. Their teeth knocked together but he quickly replaced it with the sure swipe of his tongue against her.

“Jaime,” she whispered, stretching entirely over him, surrendering. He was an undertow, intent of taking her far out into the sea. If he takes her far enough, she can forget about the past days, the last three years. All she would know would be his kisses, his heat, his want. 

“Fuck,” he groaned against her lips. He nipped at her top lip. _“Brienne.”_ He sounded like he was drowning, pleading with her to get him out. She carded her fingers through his thick, glorious hair and kissed him as if to give him life. 

His hands ghosted down her broad, muscular back, pulling up her jacket, her t-shirt to find warm skin. His fingers fluttered to her side. . .then to her stitches. “Seven Hells,” he muttered, snatching his lips away from her. He frowned at where his hand was then looked up at her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Are you sure? Let me see.” And then he was urging her up to a sitting position, once again pushing her clothes up to examine her stitched wound. Nothing could kill the mood faster than cuts and stitches, Brienne thought, trying to push her clothes down but they were blocked by his hand and head.

“Okay. The stitches look tight,” he said, straightening up. His golden blond hair stuck out in all directions but she thought he looked very much like a god, nevertheless. “I’m sorry for grabbing you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“I should have been more careful.”

Brienne frowned. “I’m not glass.”

“No, you’re a rock. Rocks can still be splintered,” he told her. Brienne wondered if that was a compliment or an insult. But she wasn’t like most women who tittered and got mushy over being compared to silk, glass, porcelain and flowers. She wasn’t any of those things. She was tall, muscular, a broad-faced, ugly giant with limp, dry hair the color of straw with too many freckles that got worse during the summer. 

“I came here to tell you we’ve arrived,” she said, getting to her feet. “I believe you’ve been wanting to get out since we got on this boat.”

“You believe right,” Jaime said, turning so he too may rise. He stretched, long and languidly. It pulled his shirt taut and up, revealing the golden trail of hair down his belly button. Naturally, Brienne’s eyes followed it and found that he was indeed the Lion of Lannister. And it looked like. . .he was ready to roar out of those pants.

Her face was crimson in an instant. Jaime cocked an eyebrow at her. “What’s got you looking like a strawberry, Blue?”

“Maybe you need to stay here for a minute. I—I should go.”

“What the hell?” Then catching her looking down, Jaime remembered. He had opened his eyes and it was her sapphires that greeted him upon waking. That was all it took for him to get hard, he realized. He smiled as she started her retreat, catching her foot on the leg of a chair by the door. He winced as she hit her forehead on the wall.

“You alright?” He asked.

Mother’s mercy, Brienne thought, rubbing the lump that had begun to form. “Uh, I’m okay. I’ll be fine. Just. . .relax. There’s no rush.”

“Why don’t you help me relax?”

She whirled around and saw him palming himself and grinning at her. “Shut up, Lannister,” she growled before throwing herself out of the room.

 

The last time she was in Skagos, her soul was in tatters. She left with no hope of being able to stitch herself back together, in spite of Catelyn’s words.

Brienne had been wanting to sell the house and the boat ever since. Missions and sentimentality prevented her from sitting down and taking care of it. The house she and Renly bought, made of stone and two stories high, was well-suited for the harsh, extreme weather conditions of Skagos. It had two bedrooms, one a suite, and the other, a smaller guest room, and three bathrooms. It wasn’t a showcase with lovingly-arranged furniture or special pieces but rather Spartan and practical. 

She unlocked the heavy, wooden door with a key secreted on top of the door frame. The utilities were paid every month yet she was anxious as she flipped on the light switches as she walked further into a house that had become a stranger. It no longer smelled of chimney fire or Renly’s cologne but dust. As he has become, she thought, taking in the sheets drawn over the furniture, like reclining ghosts.

The three men lumbered behind her, looking around. Jaqen tapped his foot on the wooden floorboards. “I like this touch,” he declared, shooting her a warm smile. He nodded. “I like this place.”

“Thank you. Uh, the kitchen’s through there,” Brienne said hastily, fighting the blush beginning to overwhelm her face and neck at the pleasure she felt with Jaqen’s words. She pointed to a wall behind her, with an open doorway that gave everyone a peek into the kitchen. “If anyone wants to freshen up there’s a bathroom by the stairs.”

The three men separated—Jaime, not wanting to be in another confined space despite his bladder’s demands, strode to the kitchen, carrying bags of food and their other supplies. Jaqen ducked to the bathroom, muttering something about smelling of the sea. It was Robb who went to Brienne, his arms laden with their supplies. 

His dark blue eyes searched her face. “Are you alright?”

“What? Of course I am.”

“You look a little flustered.”

“I’m tired, like you, anxious, worried and the like. Flustered is the last thing about me you have to worry about and I’m not.” Brienne said, wringing her hands.

“Look, about earlier—“

“What about it?”

Robb stared at his feet then at her. “I wasn’t judging. I would never judge you for your choices, Brienne.”

“Even when we were going against protocol?”

“Personal relationships among agents isn’t explicitly discouraged. More along the lines of advised against. I don’t know Renly. But he must be quite something.” 

Brienne nodded and pushed her hands in her pockets. “He is. Was, I mean.”

“I’m sorry we had to intrude into your home.”

“Don’t be. We have nowhere to go. Would you rather I kept this a secret and had us living in dinky motel for who knows how long?” 

“You don’t keep secrets, Brienne. That’s one thing I’m sure about you.”

“Thank a lot,” she muttered.

Robb smiled. “It’s meant to be a compliment. I meant to say that I can trust your word. That’s a rare currency these days. Especially among people like us.” His smile dropped. “There’s something else I’d like to talk to you about.”

“I want to talk to you too,” Brienne admitted. “But I don’t know how.”

“Then maybe later.”

She nodded.

“It’s strange. We’ve kissed and convinced everyone we’re a couple on a lot of missions but when it comes to being ourselves to each other we’re. . .” His voice trailed off.

“Lost,” Brienne finished. He nodded. “Yes. We’re lost.”

“When you have to deceive people for a living, being honest is a challenge.” 

“Not for you.” 

“Oh? You presume to know?”

“I know.” Robb hefted the bags in his arms. His smile was warm and she felt the corners of her lips being tugged to reply in kind. “Well. We’ll talk later.”

 

Robb volunteered to take care of dinner. Jaqen thought to set up some surveillance in the area and began installing the three CCTV cameras he had bought from the hardware store in Skane. Brienne was somewhere in the house rescuing furniture from dust. 

Jaime was left with no assignment. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to help. Robb had shooed him out of the kitchen and basically banned him from there until it was time. Jaqen was used to working alone and quietly—he couldn’t stand how their hostage never stopped prattling. That left Brienne.

He had changed out of his sweat-soaked clothes into a heavy blue sweater and wool-lined jeans. He was still stuck in the canvas sneakers provided in the Black Cells but he supposed that was alright. He wouldn’t be going out, nor doing any heavy hiking anytime soon. 

He prowled up the stairs, knowing that Brienne was there. He had suspected of Renly Baratheon’s involvement with her—it was the way he spoke of her, the shift in his tone that suggested it but he was flabbergasted that their relationship had reached the extent where they had a freakin’ house out here in brutal, weather-battered Skagos. Not the most romantic place at all but certainly far enough should one want to disappear.

It was easy to imagine Renly and Brienne talking of a future that put them far and away from WCA. As he climbed up the stairs, he was hit with the image of Renly reaching up to whisper something naughty in Brienne’s ear as they climbed the same steps he was on now, her entire face flushed red. He saw them stopping at the top of the stairs to kiss, Renly grasping her by the waist and nibbling at her lips, Brienne’s hand slowly travelling from his chest to his face. 

He wondered if they had fucked in every room in this house. It made him want to bang his head against the wall.

The Seven only knew what he felt for this blond giant, Jaime thought as he peered into a small bedroom, found it dark, and headed for the next. Cersei was the only woman he loved and wanted, in spite of everything she’d done and he had come to know these last few days. Yet just the very idea of Brienne got his mouth dry, made his palms sweat. She was the exact opposite of Cersei—ugly, stubborn, charmless, scarred—yet he could not ever recall feeling or responding to Cersei as he had with her. Brienne was a drink of cool water whose every drop he wanted to savor and it might not be enough to quench this thirst that had nagged at him since their tussle in the fire escape of Targaryen Industries.

He meant every cruel word said to her and believed she deserved them. Yet not once had she flung them back to his face, she had not responded with hate, she did not retaliate at all. Brienne Tarth was no doormat. Either she was used to insults, which gnawed at Jaime as he had joined the long list of her tormentors, or she cared little for the likes of him to even bother. It wouldn’t be surprising if, aside from being literally head and shoulders above everyone, so was her heart.

Her heart that she gave freely to him. What was it that Jon said that night she came home near-death? She had done it save his ass. _He, Jaime Lannister, harbinger of death and destruction._ Since that night, he resolved to be the man worth saving. He would protect her even from her worst nightmares, even when he was responsible for them. 

_“Do I scare you?”_  
_“Yes.”_

She had looked at him with those big, blue eyes of her when she admitted her fear of him, unaware that those eyes and her honesty were arrows to his heart. What have I done to you? He wanted to rage at her. Instead, he faced the truth of his actions. Wildfyre. Cersei. Nails to his coffin. He didn’t know which was worse, only that they were unforgivable. 

Yet Brienne had still kissed him. And gave him pleasure—it wasn’t because she had taken him in her hand and gave him relief before herself, it was that she gave it freely, without asking or demanding anything from me. Bitterly, he remembered the many times Cersei made him work for her kisses, her cunt. He had to earn them. Brienne, tough operative that she was, with her rough palms and giantess’ hands, gave. _She gave._

Jaime spied a door left ajar at the end of the hall. The wooden floorboards creaked under his sneakers as he strode to it, slowly. As if a small voice had warned him to be careful, that he might not like what was beyond it. He reached the door and pushed it open inch by inch.

Brienne sat at the foot of the bed, her back facing him. Her hair was noticeably shorter, now hacked closer to her skull. He saw the elegant line of her nape, of the shadow between her shoulder blades bared by the loosened collar of a faded green sweater. They called for his lips.

She was looking at a small pile of old photographs, he discovered. Moments with Renly. He found that while he felt like erupting like an angry volcano at the idea of Renly Baratheon’s hands on her, he felt sorry that she all she had of him now where photographs. His remains were never found, Jaime knew. 

Then she suddenly stood up and shoved the photos in a bedside drawer. She worked on dragging the sheets off the mattress, her movements quick and rough. She threw the sheets and pillow cases in a pile on the floor before she noticed him standing by the door. 

“Jaime,” she said, a hand on her heart. Her eyes were very blue and the tip of her nose was red. “You startled me.”

She had been crying, that was clear. Yet something told him not to speak of it or to even rush forward and take her in his arms. Cersei would demand to be held but Brienne’s more like to pummel me if I dared suggest it, he thought, feeling proud of her. 

“Sorry. I was wondering if there’s anything I could help you with. I’m a hostage but I’m not entirely useless.”

He enjoyed the pink blooms on her cheeks at the word hostage. “We’ll get you back, Jaime.”

“Jaime,” he echoed, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. He looked at her from the top of her messy, straw-blond hair, lingered on her astonishingly blue gaze, dropped to her mouth, before he languidly tracked the long, strong length of her body. With her shorter hair and her muscular build, she looked more mannish than ever. But those eyes. That too-big mouth. Certainly a woman’s but unlike any other.

“You have to be careful with my name, Blue,” he teased her. “I did tell you what I’m tempted to do when you say it.”

She snorted but her blush got more vivid. “Is that your kink? Who would’ve thought.”

“No. Only with you.” His voice softened. It was true. 

“I thought scientists were into alien girls with gigantic breasts,” Brienne said, shrugging. “But, I don’t know a lot of scientists.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Jaime told her, quirking a dimpled grin. “I’m not into green skin. I’m partial to freckles, actually. Oh, and girls from the Known World. I stick to my own species.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the discarded sheets. “So, do you need help with the bedding?”

“Uh, I got this one. But you could bring down some pillows and sheets and blankets for the convertible couch downstairs.” Brienne said, continuing to strip the bed. “There are only two bedrooms. There’s going to be some sharing, I’m afraid.”

Here was the awkward moment. Diffuse with humor with a dash of inappropriateness. “As long as you’re talking about sharing a bed and not you, I’m on.”

Jaime saw her catch her breath as she realized his meaning. “Gods, Jaime, I—“

Seven Hells, he thought, flushing, though not as badly as she was doing now. She doesn't want me as much. “Do I hog the blanket? Just so you know, I don’t snore as loudly as you do.”

“It’s not that. I mean, I wasn’t expecting.”

“Do you not want to?” Jaime felt his throat closing up at her imminent rejection.

“I—I—do—I don’t. . .I don’t know.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Brienne, I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with. I’ll take the couch. Hells, I’ll sleep in the boat if that makes you feel better.”

“No. That’s not what I want.”

“What do you want? If it’s to sleep here alone I wouldn’t take it against you. I promise.” 

Brienne bit her lip, drawing his eyes to it. “I don’t want you out there. And. . .And there are things to say first. I want you to be sure, Jaime.”  
“Sure that I want to sleep with you? What have I been doing the last two days?”

“I know things about you,” Brienne blurted out. 

Jaime took a deep breath. This was it. She was rejecting him because of Cersei. His sister was a ghost he will never shake. “Let me get one thing clear, Brienne. When I was kissing you, when I came in your hand and embarrassed myself, I knew exactly who was doing it. And it’s certainly not her. I don’t think of her when I’m with you.”

“I know that. I’ll never take that against you. Jaime, I know. . .I know where your son is.”

He was confused. “You said he was adopted.”

“I know where he is. The family that has him.”

Brienne watched as he sank heavily at the foot of the bed. 

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you about him. But I did. I should have told you of his whereabouts—“

“Why? Do you think if I know where he is I can get him back?” He demanded. His anger was misdirected but unfortunately, she was the only one in the room.

“Of course not.”

Gratifying as it was that there was someone who didn’t think he was too rash, he still couldn’t help but think that she had this information, she knew, she had kissed him and he’d come in her hands and she hadn’t told him. I have a son out there and he knows nothing of me, he thought, just as I with him. 

“Then why hold out on me?”

“I have my orders. I’m going against them as we speak.”

“Why? Why now?”

Brienne clutched at the edges of her sweater. “Because. . .Because. . .if we. . .if we sleep together. . .I don’t want for there to be anything between us. No secrets. No lies. I want. . .I want that when we sleep together, it’s because you want me, in spite of all that.”  
Jaime’s eyes were wide as he looked at her. She was worried he’d hate her? Gods, he was angry but he couldn’t hate her for something she had nothing to do with. 

“Let’s get one thing clear, Brienne,” he said, biting out every word. “It’s _not_ a question of _if_ we are going to sleep together but _when,_ ” as he said this, he tugged her down with him on the bed. “When, get that through your giant head of yours. We are going to fuck and you will want it and I will want it and I will want it not because in spite of what your foolish brain has convinced you is your doing but still. _I will want you, still.”_

He pushed her down the bed, pulled her up against the bare mattress so she was laid out completely. She had been frowning as he spoke but gradually her face cleared as he raced to finish and fling at her his heart. “Jaime,” she whispered, her fingers tender against his jawline.

He caught her hand to his lips, groaning. “Don’t say my name like that.”

Brienne giggled. It was a strange, innocent sound. “Because it makes you want to take me?” Her blush had extended to her chest now, revealed by her loose sweater. He smiled at her before dropping his head in the crook between her neck and shoulder. He smelled old cotton and slight must, generic soap. Combined, they were a heady punch. He breathed deeply.

“Yes, and dinner will be soon.” 

Now he knew for a fact it was never like this with Cersei. They had passion and desire but no affection. He had never lain like this with her, just holding her, wanting her yet also content to not take it any further. He nuzzled Brienne’s throat as his arm settled around her thick waist. She was warm and solid. 

She linked her fingers through his, pulling him closer. “I am sorry. . .Jaime.” Her voice fell a little at his name. He sighed.

“Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t know anything else about him.”

“Maybe.” 

“And is he happy?”

Brienne took a deep breath. He pulled himself up, leaning his cheek on one fist. He kept his hand on her waist, pushing up her sweater. She turned to him, conflict and sadness warring in her face.

“He is.”

His eyes dimmed, nevertheless. “Then that’s more than I could hope for.”

He closed his eyes as she kissed him on his brow. Then she put her arms around him, pulling him closer to her body. He suddenly tensed, remembering, and she tensed because he tensed. “Your stitches—“ he started to say, reluctantly moving away from her. 

“They’re fine.” Brienne urged him back in the circle of her arms. “Please come back.” 

She asks. Cersei demands, he thought, returning. But this time, he lay with his head at the level with hers. Her eyes were sapphire mirrors, indeed. He ran a hand through her hair.

“You got a haircut.”

“I was due for one but I had to spirit away an important hostage.”

“What did you use?” He played with a short, dry lock. “A knife?”

“My teeth.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course with scissors.” 

“Next time, ask me. I can bet I can give you a much better trim and free of charge.”

She dropped her eyes at the words `next time.’ He put a finger under her chin and angled it up so he could see her eyes as he spoke.

“What we have between us, Brienne,” he whispered, afraid himself of what he was about to say but unable to keep the words in, “it’s _real._ Whatever happens. Don’t doubt it.” He was pleading with her. 

“I believe it,” she said. At that moment, he did too. 

When she brushed her lips against his, softly, shyly, the exact opposite of what she just said, he knew for sure.


	41. I Come To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shirt fluttered down her body like the discarded wings of a dove.

There was no talk of strategy or the future during dinner or afterward. All of them were distracted, attempting only minimal conversation. Brienne’s mind was crammed with events that had happened earlier, feeling herself so far away from them though they happened only today. She was not looking forward to her talk with Robb later but it had to be done. It did little for her peace of mind when Jaime kept a hand on her thigh the entire time, his touch warm and possessive. Sometimes his arm would wrap around her waist and Robb and Jaqen would watch them, their stares both curious and knowing. In spite of the wind howling outside and the pervading chill in the house that the bright flames from the fireplace couldn’t really slay, Brienne’s cheeks were the color of ripe apples.

Jaqen offered to do the dishes before Brienne could. Jaime gripped her thigh as he declared he will take charge of clearing the table. But before Brienne could stand up, he gave her a quick, pressing kiss and then stood up, leaving her still in her seat with her mouth hanging open. It didn’t escape Robb’s notice, judging from how his eyes narrowed at Jaime, who whistled as he started getting the plates. Brienne swore to kill him later.  
Robb was waiting for her in the living room. Despite having no resemblance in any way to Selwyn, he reminded her very much of him then. Maybe it was because he looked like a parent about to lay hell on his errant daughter and Brienne did feel that she had failed as an agent with Jaime and barely escaping with her life at the hands of her mother. The Seven really have a sick sense of fun, she thought, having me as the daughter of a terrorist.

“Do you mind if we go outside?” Brienne asked Robb. Jaime and Jaqen were still in the kitchen and will be there for a while. “It’s sensitive information, I’m afraid.”

Robb nodded. “I was about to suggest the same thing. I’ll get the jackets while you tell Jaime.”

And Brienne blushed harder then because she was in fact going to tell Jaime. Caught, she turned back to the kitchen to tell him where they were headed. 

For the second time since dinner, Jaime kissed her. Brienne wanted to melt to the floorboards then. She barely stuttered out a goodbye before she was snatching her jacket from Robb and shoving her arms into the sleeves as they went out. 

The cold air from the sea stung her face. Robb, with one hand holding his hair away from his face and the other in his jacket, asked, “You want to go for a walk?”

“Can we risk it?” 

“Let’s.”

They walked in silence beside each other. They made their way back to the dock, where the sea would gently nudge at the boat tied there every now and then. Brienne’s strides were much bigger than Robb’s, but he kept up, his breath easy and steady as he did. She glanced at him, wondering what to say and how. 

They were partners. Out in the field they trusted each other and knew how to handle one another. Outside of it, they were speechless, worried about how to speak with the other. Before she and Robb were partners, she was with Jon. Jon was quieter than she was but because they were of similar nature, it was easier getting to know one another. Robb was the exact opposite—he knew how to talk to anyone and everyone, he was friendly and well-liked, but that could be because of his feared reputation. Still, he grew up surrounded by people. Brienne only had her father and very few friends.

“Robb,” Brienne suddenly stopped and faced him. It was best to get something out of the way first, no matter how awkward, no matter how much she was risking her partnership with Robb once she spoke of it. She looked at him, hidden mostly by the night if not for the pale light of the moon over them. 

“I know one shouldn’t get into personal relations with an asset,” she said, feeling her entire body go warm. “I’m breaking the rules and I’m compromising a lot but I want you to know that this thing that. . .this. . .with Jaime. . .I’m an agent first. In spite of whatever muddled feelings I have for him. The mission comes first.”

She waited for Robb to speak of compartmentalizing emotions, how a personal relationship with an agent was most ill-advised. And _holy fuck,_ her heart was beating so hard in her chest it was painful. 

After a moment, Robb shrugged.

“I don’t like Lannister. Yesterday, two days ago, last week, I’d have warned you about him. Yelled at you, even. But. . .it’s none of my business. I’m not one to judge. Especially since I’ve been eyeing somebody from the enemy camp myself.”

Brienne frowned. “Who?”

“Remember when I entered that room during the mission and this girl interrupted me? Talisa Maegyr.” Despite the darkness, she saw Robb’s cheeks pinken. “I’ve been, uh, well, I’ve been using government resources for my personal interests.”

“Jaime’s assistant?”

“She’s a PhD too. Peer-reviewed and with four articles in journals before Targaryen Industries lured her away with gold. You know how it is.” Robb said. “I’m thinking of asking her out when this is all over but how will I do that when she knows me by another name? And we’re forbidden from telling even our families what we do.” He ran a hand through his curls. “It’s hopeless but I’d really like to do that, ask her out.”

“It will be over soon,” she assured him.

“Are you sure what you’re doing, Brienne? Given what you know about the guy?” Robb didn’t have to spell them out. He knew them too.  
“We can’t fault people for choices they made in the past.”

“He still talks to her.”

“He didn’t know she was lying all this time.” Brienne wrapped her arms around herself. “And we haven’t made a commitment to each other, Robb. Nothing that silly.” She sounded silly. “We’re just…taking whatever we have as far as it can go. If he goes back to his sister. . .”

Robb frowned. “Seriously. You’ll go through all this—risk your career, risk your life—only for him to go back to her like it’s okay?”

“It’s not okay. I didn’t say it was. But look at me. Look at the life we have. I have to take what I can get.”

Robb was shocked. “Brienne, you can’t live like that.”

“So what do I do? Quit? I don’t know how to do anything else. I can’t see myself doing anything else. The pay is shit, the benefits shittier but I happen to love my job.”

“People like us do get a shot at normal if only we’ll take it.”

“If you pursue Talisa, knowing she works for, well, His Supreme Evilness, you think you guys have a chance at normal?”

“I’d like to think it won’t kill me to try.” 

Suddenly, he slapped her on the arm. Hard. “ _Ow!_ What the fuck—“

“Hells, Brienne. Lighten up. It’s not the end of the world fucking an asset,” he said, laughing. “James Bond boned every asset and enemy he came across. If it didn’t hurt Bond, it won’t hurt us.”

“Yeah. We’re impenetrable,” she muttered, rubbing her arm. “That hurt, you jackass.”

“Oh, please. Don’t be a baby.”

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Well, it’s about Jaime. Are you sure about it, Brienne?” He glanced back at the house. “He’s waiting for you, isn’t he?”

She looked back and nodded. Suddenly, she felt cold. 

“Just so you remember, I won’t judge.”

“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath. Her stab wound began to itch. “I’m not so sure how you’ll feel about my next bombshell.” 

 

She was gone for a long time.

Jaime swore he had worn the carpet thin pacing back and forth, waiting for Brienne to return. He had looked out the window several times and saw her sitting on the dock with Robb. In the moonlight, her pale hair looked white, silvery. She sat with her broad shoulders hunched, her head turned toward Robb. He could tell she was tensed, as well as Robb, who was frowning and firing one question after another to her. At one point she slammed her palm down on the wooden planks, maybe in anger, maybe in frustration. Jaime had wanted to go to her then.  
He harrumphed when Robb put a hand on her shoulder and seemed to give her a comforting squeeze. What the hells are they talking about? He wondered.

Then Robb kissed Brienne on the forehead. It took some manoeuvring but he managed to pull her head down his shoulder. And she let him.  
Then she stayed in his arms.

Jaime couldn’t look anymore.

He sat on a bench by the bed, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

He calmed himself. Just because a man and a woman were affectionate didn’t mean they were lovers. He and Cersei had never been affectionate yet they were lovers. It didn’t always follow. Yet he felt that familiar pain, pain that Cersei liked to awaken in him when she would linger in the company of another man and give him her suggestive smiles, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. It always made for passionate fucking, she justified to him as they caught their breath after reuniting at last. Didn’t he kiss her harder, better? Didn’t he want to erase any traces of the other man with his lips, his cock?

_“Don’t you want me more?” She whispered in his ear._

_“I always want you,” he told her helplessly._

_“Good. You should.”_

Jaime ran his fingers through his hair. He had not touched his sister in years. Wanted to touch her yet couldn’t bear it, not after finding out she was complicit in Tyrion being shipped off to Mossovy never to be seen or heard from again. And if he saw her again? When he saw her again, he clarified. Could he be completely immune to her, knowing she had lied about their son? 

But he was to blame too. He believed her. Believed every lie she told him that it wouldn’t be good for the baby, that it would confuse the baby, believed her when she said the boy looked just like him, even had some of his mannerisms. Believed everything she said when he could have asked, pushed some more. Instead, he only spoke of his want for her. Believed Cersei when she said she would wait forever until he forgave her. “I love you. I love you.”

_Lies._

The door swung open.

“You’re back,” he said, straightening. But Brienne continued to stand by the door, unmoving, looking at her shoes. “Blue?”

That seemed to snap her out of the haze. Brienne jerked and closed the door. 

Her eyes were big, blue pools threatening to take over her face. She bit her lip, worrying it until it glistened and turned to the color of blood. Jaime made to get up but she stopped him with one word, spoken softly yet wrung from deep within her. “No.”

So he stayed where he was.

And watched as she pulled her sweater over her head.

Brienne was breathtaking to watch as she divested herself of her clothes piece by piece. After the sweater, she unbuttoned the white shirt she wore under it. White wasn’t her color at all, Jaime thought, yet his breath had begun to hitch from the moment she’d dropped the shapeless green sweater on the floor. 

The shirt fluttered down her body like discarded wings of a dove, leaving her down to a camisole, also white. Jaime’s hand fluttered between his legs as he stared at her nipples tight and straining against the fabric. Brienne paused, seeing where his hand fell, and for the first time since her rough and awkward striptease, her cheeks bloomed to the color of the first strawberry of spring. She gripped the edge of her top, stiffening.

Jaime’s voice was ragged. _“Don’t stop.”_

And he unbuttoned his pants. He lowered the zipper.

His cock sprang thick and eager from the golden curls. He rubbed himself, breathing quickly as he did. Brienne’s breath rushed after his, shallow and seeming to come from constricte lungs. Her hands fell to her sides. Jaime groaned, drinking in the sight of her: her wind-whipped, pale blond hair that struck out it all directions like a broken halo, those big, sapphire eyes of her that were beginning to darken, the lovely ruddiness of her complexion, her mouth. Gods her mouth. Thick-lipped and wide, too wide, even for her broad jaw. Her skin. Pale and heavily freckled. He could see them trailing all the way down to her chest, her arms. 

“Please,” he begged her, fisting his cock. “Continue.”

“Shouldn’t I—“ and she made to step forward. Jaime shook his head.

_“Continue,”_ he growled.

“Oh-Okay.” 

She pulled off her camisole. Gods. Jaime felt that familiar ache in his lower back as he stared at her. Her chest was muscled, her stomach flat and wide with no ounce of fat. Her breasts—hells, her tits, pale and shy, very shy swells budded with the pinkest nipples he had ever seen. He had to squeeze himself for control. In the fire escape he had tasted one, too quickly. Tonight, he vowed, he would dine on them. First course, second course, main course, dessert, he didn't care. 

“Hurry,” he implored her and she flushed.

She stepped out of her boots, revealing her thick woollen socks that were threadbare at the toes. Jaime couldn’t believe it when his cock twitched. _Was he into feet now?_ But Brienne toed them off, unzipped her pants. Her thick, muscular thighs came to view. Pale. Freckled. And her legs. They went on for days. Nay, they were infinitely long. Jaime’s cock swelled even more and he groaned.

Brienne was wearing cotton, pale blue panties. The triangle was narrow, or maybe her hips were too wide. Jaime licked his lips at the blond curls peeking out of the edges. “Take it off, damn it,” he growled, squeezing himself roughly. “Stop torturing me.”

“What? I am not— _you’re torturing me,_ ” Brienne retaliated, but weakly. And he didn’t think it possible but she reddened even more, down to her tits. She took a deep breath and dragged her panties down. 

Jaime sniffed the air, deeply, strongly, and there it was. The secret scent of her cunt. It was sweet and salty, musk and _Brienne._ His nostrils flared as he looked at the cluster of pale blond curls that glistened with her want. He allowed himself a look.

Then he shot to his feet.

At the same time, Brienne rushed to him.

They met in a clash of lips and hands, skin, cunt and cock. He grabbed at her short hair roughly, yanking it back so her long, elegant throat was bared to his teeth. He sucked and bit the skin, licked at the freckles. Brienne’s nails dug in his shirt-covered shoulders, whimpering. He palmed the firm cheeks of her ass and slapped them. Slapped them for punishing him with her eyes and her freckles and her body. Then he pulled away slightly to cup her cunt. She flooded his hand, down to his wrist. "Fuck, Brienne," he groaned. Her soft cry warmed his mouth as he captured it and he held her fast and tight to him, holding her so tightly her skin would be marked with bruises tomorrow. 

“Jaime,” she moaned, grasping at his shirt.

She cupped his face to kiss him but he devoured her, pushing his tongue past her lips. He would ram his tongue down her throat if he could, wanting to taste her, wanting her to know only his flavour. He cupped her breasts and was surprised that in spite of their smallness they fit perfectly in his palms. He took one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinched. A squeal broke from her yet she melted against him. He kissed her again, sucking hard on her full lips. 

She cried out when he suddenly wrapped his hands behind her knees and lifted her. She threw her arms around his shoulders as he carried her before throwing her down the bed. She bounced and he relished the sight of her spread arms, her spread legs, her pink, very hairy cunt. The faint light of the room showed the wet gleam of her bush, her thighs.

She kept herself smooth, he thought, remembering another and hated, hated that in this moment she was still intruding. There was only one way to exorcise her.

Jaime grabbed Brienne’s legs. Brienne froze, and was about to mouth a protest; for once he was faster than her. He spread her wonderful, long legs wide open and put his mouth on her cunt. 

It was like lighting up a dynamite. Brienne lurched and screamed as kissed her as he had her mouth, possessively, roughly, greedily. He swept his tongue between her soaked folds and began to fuck her. No butterfly kisses or licks, no tenderness. Just him, his tongue, wanting to catch every drop because it was all for him. She shouted his name. He jumped and was about to shush her when he remembered. _Gods, he remembered._

“Again,” he told her.

She pleaded with his name. Begged with it. But he was relentless, pushing his tongue deep in her. He wanted deeper, really capture how she tasted and that was further in. He thumbed her cunt lips open and bared her pink, swollen nub. 

His grin was feral. Then he sucked it.

“Gods!” Brienne wept.

He pulled his head up and glared at her. “Jaime. My name is Jaime.”

And resumed his feast.

As he suckled on her clit, he pushed a long finger into her cunt, then a second, but she was still tight, very tight. He’d think her a maiden if not for what he knew. Brienne gasped when he inserted a third finger, tightening instinctively. He hummed against her clit and pushed his shoulders toward her, ensuring she was spread open. She squeezed him, powerful, milking squeezes that would strangle his cock if it were in her.

She moved against him, shyly, awkwardly. None of that. He lifted his head. “Fuck my face, Brienne,” he ordered before he continued. She was quick to obey. He growled against her cunt in approval, a hungry lion. He licked and sucked her, his fingers determined in their assault, stretching her and curling hard inside her, bidding her to _come, come, come._ His cock wanted her to come. But she was still so tight, she wouldn’t yield despite being wetter than a hurricane between her legs.

“Jaime,” Brienne’s voice was wet and teary. “Please. Please, I need you.”

He twirled his fingers in her and her back bowed beautifully, the muscles of her thighs straining. “You have me.” Ah, but he liked to tease her even if it would kill him.

_“You, you idiot. Your cock.”_

He laughed and that was unusual. He had never once thought that one could laugh during sex. But Brienne joined him, flushing even more. His cock, harder now, pressed against her groin. His pants hung below his thighs, restricing his movement. “Your hand,” he told her, suddenly stumbling on a new idea. “Give it to me. Touch yourself where I’m touching you so you don’t miss me so much. I need both hands to get rid of my pants”

Brienne hesitated before her hand descended between her legs. She rotated her clit. He shook his head and she stopped, sending him a questioning look. She looked confused and frustrated.

“Fuck yourself,” he told her, his voice hoarse. He nudged her leg further away with his elbow. 

“I’ve never—“

He was surprised. “Never?”

Brienne blushed. “Just . . .just my clit.”

Her confession was endearing. Jaime smiled at her gently. He was loathed to part with her so, awkward and funny as it was, he kept the fingers of one hand in her while the other helped him kick off his pants. His cock bobbed thick and hard, pointing straight up at his trim stomach.

“You still have your shirt on,” Brienne told him helpfully, licking her lips.

“So it is.” It was difficult unbuttoning it with his left hand but he managed. She helped him fling it off.

Both of them dressed in skins now, Jaime looked at where they were joined. Her body was not feminine but he couldn’t think of anything undesirable about her. Glorious, that’s what she was. Magnificent. He helped himself to one of her breasts. Licking her nipple, kissing the freckles surrounding it. She cupped his head, fingers threading through his golden waves. He tongued her nipple until it tightened even more; she gasped. He ran his teeth around the other tight pink tip. "Jaime," her voice was harsh.

Because their heights matched it was easy to kiss her on the mouth, back to her breasts, easy to keep his fingers in her sopping cunt. He swirled them in her and she jerked her hips towards him. She had begun to relax and was much slicker now. Jaime whispered her name against her lips. 

“Jaime, please,” she whispered, rolling her hips, inviting him in. 

He took his cock in hand, closing his eyes. “Do you have. . .?”

Brienne’s long arm reached in the drawer. She pulled out the entire strip of condoms. Jaime chuckled. “Well, we do have all night.”

He tore a packet open with his teeth. She helped him roll it down his cock. Brienne swallowed. Jaime was large. Thick and long. She tensed around his fingers again. He kissed her on the cheek, tenderly, almost chastely as he took himself in his hand and pushed in. 

Her cunt yielded like a scabbard matched to his sword. Brienne threw her head back while Jaime screwed his eyes shut.

“So good,” they said in unison.

“You’re tight,” he gasped, opening his eyes. “Fuck, Brienne.”

She was still touching herself. On the clit. And now thrusting against him. Jaime felt himself on the verge. _“Please, Jaime.”_

That did it. He braced himself over her, pushing against her, rolling and shifting his hips in response to her. A lock of his golden hair fell over, feathering her cheek. She arched, her legs going around his waist, her feet pressing on his buttocks. Jaime grunted, speeding up, battering her cunt in savage, deep thrusts that had her gasping breathlessly. He removed her hands from his waist and pinned them over her head with his.

“Look at me,” he told her because her eyes were shut, depriving him of those gorgeous blues. Again, Brienne obeyed. Together, they drowned in the seas of each other’s eyes. 

Jaime began to peak first and he gasped, resisting the waves of orgasm coming at him. Her name fell from his lips helplessly, as if she could stop it. The effort caused sweat to drip from his temples down to his face. Then she upped the challenge with a kiss, more tightening of her legs around his waist. “No, with me,” he insisted and manage to hold on, barely, to release one of her wrists and stroke her clit desperately, wet sounds loud in the night. Brienne whimpered, her freed arm going around his waist. She urged him to move.

“Harder,” she begged.

“Gods, yes, harder,” he agreed, his voice strangled.

His thumb on her clit was as merciless as his tongue. For the nth time that night, Brienne moaned, a long, loud, sexy sound. Jaime finally allowed himself the relief of one thrust, two, three, four before he surrendered to the release that had left his control in shreds. She cupped his face then, still moving against him, whispering his name now, squeezing his cock to the last drop. Spent, he collapsed onto her, his mouth landing on her half-parted lips. 

Their bodies gleamed with sweat. Their breath was warm. They were sticky and slick. Yet Jaime couldn’t fathom the idea of ending the kiss, not yet. Not when Brienne’s lips were the soothing drink of a fresh, cool spring. 

When he had his fill, she asked, blushing, if they could do it again. 

“Yes,” he said, smiling. In the next instant, he was cupping her face in his hands and whispering, begging, _“Please, Brienne.”_


	42. A Way In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He asked her about the other scars, she had a lot. His eyes darkened when he found out their cause. Twice she told him to stop. Twice he told her he wanted to know. “I don’t like anything you’ve told me but this is you,” he said.

It was four days of freedom.

They had much of each other as often as possible. The morning following their first night found Brienne with a scratchy throat. From being out in the cold quite long, was her reason. Jaime was only too happy to remind her, with his lips, that she had been very vocal when he was between her legs. She hit him on the shoulder, hard, and he winced, but he tackled her to bed and they spent the rest of the morning there, sighing and gasping, tasting and having each other.

Brienne had loved Renly but it was harder and harder to remember if they had ever been together like her and Jaime. They began their affair out of the need for release in the aftermath of a mission that often had them crossing swords with the Stranger. But there was love, she was sure. Love was Renly throwing his body over her as explosives set off around them, felling a small city. It was when she treated his wounds and swallowed his hisses with kisses. It was love, so what if people thought it was sick, when she begged Renly to use her however he wished after a particularly disastrous mission and he looked ready to kill. And yes, even when he failed to keep his promise to return, it was love. He meant it, she knew. 

Things were always urgent between them. Urgent and incendiary as it was fuelled with the knowledge their time together could be their last. There were no tender, quiet moments between them. There was that one month in this house in Skagos, the only time they had ever been here. They had to fight for that time, to be allowed to disappear, but even in sleep there nagged the thought that they would be a found and another mission, more dangerous, awaited them. Brienne would bury her face in the pillow to stifle the sobs fear drew from her without fail as Renly slept undisturbed.

With Jaime, despite knowing they were on borrowed time, there was no rush, no desperation. She indulged herself looking in his eyes, whispering to him that they looked like emeralds. He laughed, tracing the line of her cheek with one finger as he told her they were just green. But her eyes, now they were something else.

“Sapphires,” he whispered, brushing his bearded lips against her closed eyelids. He kissed each eyelid, as if she were precious and _his._

She shook her head as he pulled away. A wide smile lit up his face, making him look boyish, despite the beard and the laugh lines around his eyes when she hooked her leg behind his knee to keep him close.

“Blue. Not sapphires.”

His lips roamed her shoulder, her collarbones. “Yes. Sapphires.”

Jaime, she discovered, like to draw things out. Not to say he had never taken her without rush—there was that afternoon on the second day, when he grabbed her from the door and pushed her towards the kitchen counter. Brienne had gasped, breathlessly, that someone could walk in but Jaime silenced her protests with kisses, with his hands cupping her small breasts before he pulled her pants down. He entered her in one, hard thrust and she wailed, shocked at how good he felt in her. But she was panicked, imploring him to _hurry, hurry, gods, hurry,_ bucking against him just as hard as he was pushing against her. He groaned that he could taste the sun on her skin, and the sea. She came with a shout that he muffled with a large hand around her mouth because footsteps were approaching the kitchen. She moaned against his palm as he played with her clit, sending her right into the fire. Tremors still wracked Brienne as Jaime pulled up her pants, straightened her shirt, before he tucked his cock back in his pants, kissing her gently on the temple, licking the side of her neck before he stood back.. 

When Robb entered the kitchen, Brienne was pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting on a stool at the counter, her aching nipples pressing against her sweater, feeling their come pooled in her underwear. Jaime was in front of the open fridge, prowling its contents for a snack. Robb took note of her too-bright eyes and her squirming in her seat but didn’t say anything. 

Last night, they came together against the wall at the back of the house. Jaime lured her out under false pretences, she discovered quickly when he brought her mouth down to his for a hungry, yearning kiss as soon as she was past the door. Then she was pressed against the rough stone walls, gasping against Jaime’s mouth as he cupped her breasts from under her sweater and ground his erection against the warm niche between her legs. The world shifted as he pulled her away from the rocks, saved her back from scratches, when he laid her on the ground. His head under her sweater, his lips tugged hard at her sensitive nipples. He kicked off her pants, pushed his fingers in her cunt. It hurt. She squeaked; she was still tender. He whispered an apology, his head out of her shirt, his eyes brilliant and softened to a jade colour but she snapped her hips toward his retreating fingers, pleading, “Don’t stop.” 

Her orgasm was quick, harsh, fevered grunts in a night where the only sound was the sea battering against the rocks, the wind that tried to dislodge the stones from their tight spots of the house. Still in the haze of her release, she barely noticed when Jaime dragged her over his lap, spread her legs wide and pounded up at her. As he sucked on her shoulder, her throat, he told her she tasted of moonlight. Soon, he took her again, pressing her to the ground to revel in the sight of her cunt dripping with the liquid pearls of their come. Brienne died a thousand deaths as Jaime sucked her hungrily. In the aftermath, they lay limp on the cool earth, sweating and trembling. She was the one to move first but he helped her dress before himself. He led her to the shower but didn't take her this time. They just held each other. Before sleeping, they made love this time, each taming the slow burn they ignited in each other before surrendering.

There was no satisfying this hot rush of need. Brienne found herself in a daze, a soft light in her eyes that almost made her beautiful but still missed making that vital, final step. Anyone who saw her noted silently to himself that she moved as if in the middle of a dream, languidly and lightly. The only time she was sure and settled in this plane was with Jaime--when he was urging her hoarsely to turn around so he could taste her too, she couldn't be the one doing all the tasting, when his tongue was deep in her mouth, drawing deep in himself the memory of her flavour, when he pushed a stubborn, dry lock of her pale hair away from her eyes. He made her fly and splinter into a thousand pieces yet also kept her right here on this earth and put her back together seamlessly.

When he took his time (and boy, did he take his time), Brienne was left shattered and broken, pieces of herself drifting away like gold flecks, gold dust. He kissed her in a way that she knew only of his mouth massaging against her, his tongue flicking at her. Touched her that told her she was both glass and the mountain, his awed whispers filling her ears with how her skin was so soft behind her ear, inside her elbows, her breasts, her groin, yet, he added with a pleased chuckle, she could strangle him with her trunk-like thighs. He told her he could lose himself in the warm bulk of her body. He tasted every freckle she had, from head to toe. He trailed his lips up and down her legs, comparing it to a long but very rewarding climb. Always rewarding, he breathed, because there waited for him the wine of her cunt. He drank from between her thighs as if with a great thirst. 

Jaime was an unselfish lover, always ensuring she found her pleasure first. It wasn’t that Renly didn’t pleasure her—he was more than satisfactory but their encounters were always rough and she was often worried about him not finding pleasure with her, that he’ll die, so their fucking became all about him. With Jaime, she wanted to please him, not in response to his being a very giving lover, but simply because of that—to please him. 

Of course Jaime knew pleasure but not one given so freely as Briene had when she slipped to her knees in the shower and took his cock in her mouth. Shock pulled his eyes wide open. He was so thick she feared her jaw would unhinge, and her throat struggled to relax around him when he gripped her face. But she took him, swallowed his come and water and sweat. The reward was Jaime’s mouth falling slack, the cloud in his emerald eyes. 

One would think that they had done nothing but fuck but they talked too. A lot. Jaime looked at her, a fist under his chin, as she told him about growing up in Tarth with only her father. Her father. No doubt the authorities had begun to question him. She hoped that Selwyn’s ignorance of her real job would keep him safe. Her eyes getting watery, she hid her face in Jaime’s shoulder. He held her, knowing her concern but not asking her about it. If she won’t speak of it, he won’t ask. 

But she continued a while later, speaking of the mother she didn’t know. There was little she knew and what she had come to know she couldn’t tell him. Her hand had a manacle grip around his as she said this, ignoring the twitching on her stab wound. She slipped her hand down his golden skin, to the curls surrounding his cock and asked him to fuck her. She said it like she needed it to breathe. Jaime pulled her back to his arms and wrapped his legs around her. 

In the afterglow of their passion, he asked her about Renly. She looked in his eyes as she answered him, needing those emerald orbs on her lest she end up lost. Then she asked Jaime about Renly.

He knew she wouldn’t ask. He will wait forever if he let that happen. But he pulled her out of bed and out of the bedroom, out of the house. He refused to stain the place where they had found freedom with Cersei’s name. His eyes watered as he revealed that he loved her, will probably always love her. She was the only woman he had and even if he could pull her by the roots, there was no forgetting his sister. His words hit the air but the wind didn’t take them, like sand and flung them elsewhere. Jaime braced himself for Brienne’s contempt, knowing this was when he would lose her, that she would cease to be his—if she had been his in the first place. His stomach felt heavy and sick at the thought. 

But Brienne put her large, calloused hand on his cheek. 

On their last night together, he asked her about the scars on her body. Brienne had never been conscious of them until she started sleeping with Jaime Lannister. His lover, his sister, was the embodiment of perfection. She had fought off every time the thought came to her, that Jaime only reached for her because he was hurting from Cersei’s betrayal, that he took her to forget the loneliness of losing your lover. But if she let the full force of these thoughts to come at her, she would disintegrate. That can’t happen. Not yet. The mission was far from over. 

When Jaime asked about her scars, she remembered Renly. He had a lot of scars too. They had never asked each other about them because each knew from where, why and how. There was no agent alive whose body was unmarked by former missions. Jaime had no scars, nothing that the eye could see. They were inside and some, she knew, were still open wounds, though he denied them by not speaking of them. 

“Tell me about this,” Jaime asked, running a thumb down a long, pale scar on her right wrist. It was paler than her skin, a thin, unfreckled line.  
“A knife,” she answered. “A mission in Lorath. I pointed a gun at him and he sliced at me with a dagger. I fell but Renly shot him.”

Jaime kissed it, his lips dry and rough from the cool weather and harsh winds that howled out the window. Her heart raced.

He traced a puckered scar on the right side of her waist. “This looks painful.”

“Gunshot wound.” A hard kick had sent her crashing against some boxes and a crate. Her ribs took the brunt of the fall, cracking. Yet she got up, determined to fight the arms dealer Jorah Mormont. He was quick to put a bullet in her. “He’s in the Black Cells. Jon took him down.”

Jaime shook his head. “You could have died.”

Yes. “But I didn’t.” 

He lowered his head and licked it.

He asked her about the other scars, she had a lot. His eyes darkened when he found out their cause. Twice she told him to stop. Twice he told her he wanted to know. “I don’t like anything you’ve told me but this is you,” he said and proceeded to ask about the one by her left thigh. A knife. It was as if the Stranger had stabbed her there himself but she retaliated with a war cry and sank her entire knife into the enemy through his eyeball.  
Jaime kissed the mark left by the bullet that had grazed her during the encounter with the Sons of Harpy. Brienne’s heart was racing like a train when Jaime got to the latest scar. He had taken out the stitches but there it was, a raised bit of skin. She nibbled her lip, praying he wouldn’t ask who was responsible. She had already lied to him. No more.

But he didn’t ask, to her relief. Her chest tightened as he pressed his lips there. He looked up at her as he gently bit the taut skin.

“You saved me,” he said softly.

She buried her fingers in his hair.

He shook her hand away and it fluttered down the muscled length of his arm. He rose, his golden hair tousled, his eyes on fire with lust. Brienne ran her palm down the firm ridges of his chest, his blond curls tickling her. He smirked but it was strained, especially when her hand lowered to his taut stomach. His cock was hard against her groin. She opened her legs. Jaime dropped his head, watching as he pushed his cock in the depths of her cunt before he turned back to look at her. 

He sank against her, his hands gripping her face. His hips rolled. She gasped. 

“Don’t do it again.”

“No.”

Punishing her, he pulled away, depriving her of his cock despite every cell in his body shouting at him to thrust hard. Brienne groaned and quickly locked her legs around his waist, her ankles crossing at his back. Jaime grimaced, looking beautiful and tortured at the same time as he was forced back in.

“Swear it. Never again, Brienne,” his voice was guttural. Sweat began to form around his face. 

Her legs tight around him, her cunt walls strangling him, she pulled his head down. Blue and green clashed. Sweat beaded at the tip of his nose. She licked it. 

_“No.”_

 

Brienne got up early. She dressed, quietly, stifling a gasp when the rough fabric of her t-shirt abraded her swollen nipples. She felt light, her head in the clouds, her movements unfocused. She yawned and looked at the man still fast asleep in bed. Jaime slept on his stomach in a wide sprawl, the blanket puddled low below his waist. Her cheeks began to warm, remembering how last night felt endless as she was flung from one earth-shattering orgasm to the next. Her throat tightened, her tongue felt heavy and thick in her mouth. The discomfort would be alleviated only by kissing him. Firmly, she turned away.

Robb’s door was still closed and from the snores she easily picked up despite the barrier, still fast asleep. Padding downstairs revealed that Jaqen was still sleeping on the fold-out, huddled deep in the pillow and the blanket. 

She turned on the TV in the kitchen, making sure the volume was low. With their surveillance equipment just the cameras Jaqen had installed around the property, they got their information from the news. Internet service at Skagos had always been shifty and unpredictable, not to mention that it put them at risk to more exposure. Despite knowing by heart how to get in touch with their underworld contacts, they didn’t. Often you found out that alliances of this nature was over with a bullet between your eyes. 

Though her body was focused on breakfast preparation, her ears were on the news. The hunt was still on for Jaime Lannister’s kidnappers. Hers and Robb’s faces had been splashed all over. They had also identified Jon Snow, whose last whereabouts were tracked to his car in the international airport as well as the purchase of tickets to different countries. Jaqen had been identified as the owner of Sin Rostro, but under a different name. Police were giving hell to the real estate company for doing the purchase online, for not once requesting an ID photo. There was no word about Catelyn Stark but Brienne knew what that meant. She had been arrested.

There was a replay of Tywin Lannister’s press conference. His eyes were cold and sharp as he stared right in the camera and recalled that what he’d done to his former business rival, Reyne Enterprises, would be a playground tussle compared to what he was ready to do to get Jaime back. The four of them were having dinner as they watched it last night and Brienne froze as Tywin seemed to look right at her, through her, as if he knew. He was an older version of Jaime yet also not. It was the eyes. Tywin Lannister’s eyes were harsh emeralds and calculating while Jaime’s twinkled with mischief. From under the table, he reached for her hand and squeezed it and she squeezed back. 

She changed channels, wanting to shake off the shivers in her body, and came upon the replay of Viserys Targaryen’s press conference from two days ago. While Tywin was the embodiment of a lion, Viserys, whom popular legend said had dragon in his blood, appeared as a worried, concerned employer. His violet eyes were soft and looked to be on the verge of tears. Brienne made a face. 

“He’s going to have my head as soon as I return,” spoke Jaime as he entered the kitchen. Brienne, who was leaning against the counter as she watched, turned to him just as he put his arms around her waist. He pressed her to his chest, kissing her deeply on the mouth. A sigh escaped her as she breathed in the scent of his skin still warm from sleep and the faintest trace of her own. She pulled away slightly, her breath stuttered. _We've marked each other._

“Why are you up? It’s still early.” He whispered against her lips, smiling at her pink cheeks. Then he lowered his hand down the front of her pants. He chuckled at her gasp.“My cock missed you," he said conversationally. _How is it I can hardly remember how it is to sleep alone? Or with her?_ Refusing for this good day be clouded with any thoughts of another, he deepened his caress. His eyes went slumberous as Brienne leaned against him.

“I do get up around this time, you know,” she told him, hoping her voice did not shake like the rest of her. Her entire body blushed at his words. She tried removing his naughty hand but he slapped her hand away and proceeded to push past the waistband of her pants. She closed her eyes as his fingers found her. The fabric of his shirt was crushed in her hands. 

"Look at you," he spoke against her neck, licking a freckle. She shivered. He was both awed and smug. "You're still wet."

His strokes were gentle, almost feather-light. He rotated her still-swollen clit. Used to a hard touch, Brienne was stunned when she suddenly jerked, eyes round and dark blue, her arms wrapping around him like vises. She bit at his cloth-covered shoulder as she saw the world light up in white.

It was Jaime kissing her around the face and her lips that brought her back. Looking at her face softened by her release, her dazzled eyes, he wondered how he could ever think her ugly. He could look at her forever.

Brienne wanted to curl up in a ball when Jaime pulled his fingers out and put them in his mouth. His eyes were bright as his cheeks hollowed. "You get sweeter each time, Blue."

"We shouldn't have done that," she said, turning away from him to hide her ever-reddening cheeks. Seven Hells, not even Renly was as bold, this reckless...touching her like that without a care as to who might walk in anytime. And with the fingers, telling her _how she tasted,_ oh gods.

"Probably not. But we didn't get caught. And so what if we are? We're consenting adults evenly matched in the bedroom and elsewhere, so long as one's hand is in a really delightful place on another person." Jaime winked at her. When Brienne muttered that he was impossible and she didn't know what to do with him, he laughed and nuzzled her neck and shoulder. 

"I don't. . .I'm not comfortable with it, Jaime. Yes, you are so good when you do that but. . .maybe next time. . .?"

He put a finger under her chin and kissed her. "Next time only in the bedroom." How intriguing. Brienne had no trouble stripping before him in the bedroom but out in public she would freeze when he just touched her. Well, he had more than touched her earlier. Her responses were very addictive. He could watch her forever come apart.

"I promise. Now, how can I help with breakfast?"

In lieu of an answer, Brienne kissed him.

They were still in each other’s arms when Jaqen padded to the kitchen. He nodded at them. Rubbing his eyes and yawning wide and rudely, he asked, “Is there coffee?”

“Let me pour you one. Black, right?” Brienne asked, freezing when Jaime lavished kisses on her nape. She whispered to him, “Go talk to him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jaime said, giving her a mocking bow. “I’ll take care of the coffee.”

Breakfast was almost an exact mirror of their first dinner, which for Brienne felt like several lifetimes ago. The only difference was sunlight, and rather than being tired, it was worry that silenced them. Jaime still kept a hand on her thigh as they ate. She didn’t remove it.

For four days they didn’t speak of their next course of action. Brienne understood. As urgent as it was to return to King’s Landing as soon as possible, they had to retreat in order to recover and to have a clearer head. She hoped that was the case now.

Jaime, having sensed the three needed to talk, volunteered to take care of the dishes and to clear the table. Brienne gave him a grateful look as she left the kitchen. He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles, and told her huskily he expected payment later. 

Brienne went to the living room, where Robb and Jaqen were sitting on the couch. They looked at her expectantly as she sat on one of the chairs next to it. 

“We can’t stay here forever,” she told them. “The mission is not over.”

“No it’s not,” Robb agreed.

“We can’t finish the mission with just the three of us,” Jaqen pointed out. Brienne was humbled at that, how he saw himself as one of them. 

“Jaqen, Robb and I discussed this,” Brienne told him carefully. “And we want your say on the matter. Please know that we’re not forcing you to agree. But we will need your men, Jaqen. We need them to lay the groundwork for us. Observe. Make note. Alert us. Also to help us get the necessary equipment. We can’t make any mistakes this time.” 

Expecting resistance, Jaqen surprised her with a nod. “I was going to offer their services. You’re black ops but you’re still government. We’re an unsavoury lot. Cat’s met them. You’ll see what I’m talking about. But yes, you may have them.”

“Thank you.” Brienne turned to Robb. “We also have to find Jon. Sam’s. . .we don’t know what happened to Sam since Daario took him. We have to assume that Daario’s returned to his Harpy roots and Sam’s with him.” 

“We can’t place a man with the Harpy right now,” Robb said. “They know what we look like. They’re still in the game. We’re going to have be one step ahead of them.”

“And everyone else. But first, the Wildfyre. We can’t let that slip out of our hands.”

“But Jaime says the place where they’re stored at needs his DNA,” Jaqen said. “Do you really think we can bring him back to Targaryen Industries?”

“Yes. Undetected. That’s why we need your men. We will need disguises and information. A lot of information.”

“We have to make sure we slip back to King’s Landing undetected,” Robb reminded them. “They’re looking for us everywhere. I don’t know how far along that haircut will help you, Brienne.”

“Then I’ll dye my hair. You’ll shave off your pretty curls and you, Jaqen, you’ll cut off your hair too. We’re going to have to come up with some sort of disguise for Jaime because Seven Hells, he’s got one of the most recognizable faces in Westeros.” 

“Being that we’re going to need the assistance of my men, we should have them searching for Jon too,” Jaqen offered. “But we’ll have to get back to King’s Landing for me to send word to them.”

“Of course.” Brienne nodded. “The Wildfyre and Jaime Lannister are our main agenda. Then we have to work on clearing our names and Catelyn’s. Howland’s got to have her.”

“Then she’s safe,” Robb said, though he looked worried.

“She’s stronger than any of us,” Brienne assured him. She meant it.

“I know that for a fact,” Jaqen patted Robb on the shoulder. “Do you know about the one time your mother took down an entire terrorist cell by herself?”

Robb frowned. Brienne too. “I’m not familiar with Mom’s former missions,” he admitted.

“A lot of them are still classified. But she was sent with a team to take on the Dothraki. You’ve never heard of them. But twenty years ago, they were as feared as the Harpy. Felled everything in their path. Shot fathers and men eighteen years old and over, took young girls to wife, put guns in the hands of young boys. Long story short, she lost almost the entire team. They weren’t given the right intelligence. It was a bloodbath. Catelyn only had limited ammunition. She made each of them count.”

“What do you mean she lost almost the entire team?” Brienne asked.

“Two were dead in an instant,” Jaqen said before looking sheepish. “I took a bullet in the leg and another in the chest. In between shooting people, Catelyn dug them out with her bare hands. The Stranger was upon me when it was over. I lost a lot of blood. A lot. I also had fever and was dehydrated. I was also fighting an infection. I hovered between life and death and your lovely mother made a punching bag out of my face to keep me alive. Catelyn half-dragged and carried me until she was able to find someone who could drive us to the hospital. It was seventy-two hours in seven hells. We made it to the hospital and it was there that Catelyn alerted the Long Lances, her former division. They’d given us up for dead.” He smiled. “The entire time we were together, she was worried about missing your birthday. I believe it was your eighth.”

Understanding settled on Robb’s face. “She woke me up with a kiss and a birthday cake. She made it.” His voice softened. “She never missed any of our birthdays.”

Brienne told herself not to go there but her mind did, anyway. To a mother who played dead for years, who thought her as no one and stabbed her to prove it. 

“Catelyn eliminated the Dothraki with a shotgun and her mind. Vicious and inhuman did not begin to describe the Dothraki, Robb. She wiped them off the face of the earth. Government suits like Howland Reed are nothing to her.”

They were contemplating whether they had Catelyn Stark’s strength to face down a dragon and his cohorts when Jaime peeked in from the kitchen. He looked troubled and unsure. “Uh, guys, I think you should see this.”

They frowned at him but got up. When they reached the kitchen, Jaime turned up the volume of the news broadcast.

“---Jane Doe left in the dumpster has been identified as Doreah Mopatis, a personal assistant of Viserys Targaryen at the Targaryen Industries,” a beautiful, blond, green-eyed newscaster was saying to the camera. Brienne shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She knew it wasn’t Cersei Lannister but the features were close enough. Still, she reached for Jaime’s hand, not to remind him of what they had—what did they have?—but to comfort here. He had been there when Doreah died, and told her he was still haunted about being the direct cause of her death. Jaime’s eyes warmed as she pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand. 

“The identification of Doreah Mopatis is due to Kingsguard Daily reporter, Melisandre Seaworth. In an explosive, headlining article on Kingsguard Daily today, Miss Seaworth reveals that Miss Mopatis had been helping her find out the whereabouts of the missing Targaryen heiress, Viserys’ sister Daenerys. It has long been believed that Daenerys has become a silent partner of the family empire, leaving her brother fully in charge of day-to-day activities. The last time Daenerys Targaryen was seen in public was five years ago, in the file photo you’re seeing now.”

The screen displayed the photo Brienne had seen before they began their mission. Daenerys, looking small and fragile, was facing the camera as she entered the limousine. Viserys stood next to her, unsmiling. 

“Calls and inquiries made to Mr. Targaryen regarding this news and his sister has yielded no comments of any kind. The missing Lannister heir, Jaime Lannister, is also an employee for Targaryen Industries.”

As the newscaster continued, Brienne turned to the others in the room. “That’s how we return,” she declared. She dropped Jaime’s hand.  
Robb grinned. “Precisely. Start a fire in one direction and we sneak in through the other.”

In an uncharacteristic move, Robb and Brienne high-fived each other. Jaime grinned but it fell when Brienne, beaming at Robb, said, “That’s why you’re my partner, Robb Stark.” 

Jaqen looked oddly excited too. “So. When do we leave?” 

Robb said something—Brienne didn’t hear it, neither did Jaime. They were looking at each other from across the room. It did not need to spoken what they were thinking. Brienne stepped forward then caught herself. If she went to Jaime now he would take her back to the bedroom and lock themselves in. Jaime, whose hand had stretched out when she moved, dropped it and he nodded, understanding. Indeed. He wouldn’t be letting her out of the room, not for a long time. 

They both wanted it and silently cursed themselves for understanding too well what had to be done. For the first time since becoming an agent, Brienne wished she was someone else, elsewhere. Not here, definitely. She would be spared of the memories of the last four days. Brienne Tarth, who had never backed away from pain, wished to turn back time, all the way to when Renly recruited her. This day was rooted in that day almost ten years ago, where Renly Baratheon approached her in the middle of the university quad and asked if she wanted to serve her country. No, she would say now. _No._

Jaime himself wondered where his life would be if he had forgiven his sister sooner, if he had fought for his child, for his brother. He certainly wouldn’t be here, in godsforsaken Skagos, wanting the woman he never thought would want, not even when drunk, in a way that made his blood sing for the first time in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos!


	43. Your Only Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take the deal, Howland. Or kill me. Those are your only options. Take the deal and we all get what we want. Don’t and everyone will know about the classified information you’ve kept to yourself all this time. That’s going to bring chaos to Westeros and call Olenna Tyrell’s leadership into question. No doubt Viserys Targaryen will fan the fire and take over himself. And he’ll get it. So. How do you intend to finish this game, Howland?”

“So, I made you a heart-healthy dinner,” Meera Reed was saying as she lifted the cover from the food before putting it back, “and dessert is a bowl of fresh fruit. No whipped cream, Dad, no added sugar of any kind, just all natural, healthy sweetness.”

As she spoke, she straightened up and crossed her arms, looking at Howland with mock sternness. More pretty than beautiful, she looked much younger than her thirty years. Her hair was a bob of wild, soft, dark brown curls. Her eyes looked either green or green crossed with hazel, depending on the light. Her nose was a small, narrow ridge and below it, a small mouth with slim lips. Often attired in medical scrubs being a nurse at Westeros General, tonight she wore a sleeveless black dress with thin straps and a scooped neckline. It was short, showing off her slim, curvy legs. Black high heels gave her added height, but not much. Standing five-foot-one barefoot, she was now five-foot-four.

“Of course,” Howland agreed.

“And I don’t want you drinking wine or soda,” she added, wagging a finger at him.

“Hells, Meera, could you just leave so your poor father could enjoy the rest of the night feasting on steamed fish and herbs?” 

“Alright. I’m going,” Meera said, slipping on a matching black sweater.

“Have fun. Don’t break his heart right away,” Howland told her. 

She laughed. “Oh, please, Dad.”

“You’ve never gone out with the same guy twice.”

“Dad! You know that’s not true.” But she gave a toothy, cheerful smile. She reached for her purse. “It’s the third time with this one.”

“Oh. It must be serious.”

Meera rolled her eyes. “Please.”

“Who’s he?” Howland really wanted to know.

Meera cupped a hand on one side of her mouth as she spoke in a stage whisper, “It’s Lancel Lannister.”

He heard her wrong. He chuckled. “I thought you said he’s a Lannister. Oh, boy.”

“Well. He is. He’s Kevan Lannister’s son. Anyway, I’m going. I don’t want to keep him waiting,” Meera kissed him on the forehead and waved goodbye, oblivious to Howland’s worry.

As soon as she shut the door behind her, Howland sighed loudly. Irony of ironies. He was so focused on looking out for anything Lannister he had forgotten about other Lannisters. Kevan Lannister was no Tywin but they were brothers. That made them still close.  
Howland got up from the chair, taking with him the covered plate of his dinner. He went to the living room, where he put in a CD of the Marillon Philharmonic in the player. The first track was “For the Watch” a musical interpretation of a dark moment in the history of the Night’s Watch when they turned against their Lord Commander after the Battle of Hardhome. It was a haunting, heavy piece yet it was Howland’s favorite. The searing violin and cello solos were perfect, brutal simulations of when the Lord Commander was first stabbed. 

Howland settled himself on the couch, put his legs up on the table (he could, Meera wasn’t there) and put the plate on his lap.

“So your daughter’s sleeping with the enemy?”

Though startled, Howland looked up from his dinner to see Jon Snow appearing from behind a wall. The black ops agent didn’t look like a man on the run. His longish black hair was slicked back and he wore a black leather jacket over a black shirt and jeans. On his feet were black combat boots.

“Have you come here to kill me, Jon?” Howland asked him.

“Not yet.” Jon revealed himself fully from the wall. It was then that Howland saw Daario Naharis handcuffed and looking like a man who had slept in the dirt for days upon days. He was filthy and the lower part of his pants leg was bloody. He limped as Jon tossed him forward, toward Howland. Daario fell beside him with a groan. He reeked of something wet and of discards.

“You sent him after me,” Jon said, nodding at Howland. “And he had a lot of things to say.”

“He doesn’t work for me. He works for the government of Westeros,” Howland said. 

“So do I. Still, it’s curious that mine and my partners’ faces are all over the news for kidnapping the Lannister heir.”

“You knew that was a risk. You didn’t take care to ensure there would be no leak.” Howland glared at him. “You trusted the wrong man, Jon. And look what’s happened to your team.”

“I still think that if you’ve told us everything from the start rather than forcing us to go against you to obtain information there will be four people less wanting you dead.” Jon told him. “Just so you know, Howland, if you try anything funny, all of Westeros’ deepest, ugliest secrets will be made public.”

“It’s true,” Daario said, breathing hard. “He’s got it all in one place and he has to check in every two hours else it leaks out—“

“Shut up. Unless you want me to shoot you in the throat this time.”

“Fuck,” Daario muttered. 

Howland looked at Jon in the eye. “We’re not working against you, Jon. It had to look like there was dissent among us because there’s a mole.”

“Samwell Tarly.”

Howland’s face was grave. “He’s Targaryen’s lap dog. Recruited him three years ago.”

“Why aren’t you looking for him?”

“Because,” Howland said in frustration, “we can’t find him. We don’t know where Targaryen is keeping him. But we have enough information to know he went there on his own free will."

“You ordered Jaime Lannister to continue with the production of Wildfyre,” Jon told him. “Why?”

“It was the only way to ferret them out. We’ve known for a long time that Viserys Targaryen has been working against the government with the Sons of Harpy. but we had no proof. He’s good. They both are. Continuing with the Wildfyre was the logical choice in the hopes that he would trip up. And he did. Blount, Clegane, Moore—they’re fall guys. Just there to sweeten the pot. But it’s the Harpys keeping him happy and richer.” Howland looked at him. “Viserys knew we were on to him. We just beat him by a day or two because Oberyn Martell discovered you were downloading classified information using his codes.”

Daario sighed. “We saved your friends’ lives.” 

“Yes. Because they’re much safer with very cop in Westeros looking for them because they’re `armed’ and `extremely dangerous.’ Good job. They’ll fall all over themselves thanking you.” Jon sat on an armchair by the couch Howland and Daario were sitting on as he spoke.

“What do you want, Jon?” Howland asked, suddenly weary. “If you’re going to kill Naharis, I urge you to rethink. We’re on your side. The subterfuge was necessary.”

“It’s what got us almost killed. It’s what will get us killed if you don’t fix things right away.” Jon growled. He jerked his head at Daario. “What’s Viserys’ endgame?”

“What everyone who used to have all of it now regret giving up. Power.”

“And how does he intend to do that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Jon Snow. We know nothing.”

“Maybe. But I have a proposal. Call off the search for Brienne and my other associates. They’ve done nothing wrong. You will release Catelyn Stark rand have her reinstated as director of the Golden Company. I want the events of the past days to not affect our service record with the WCA now and forever. I want Catelyn Stark, Brienne Tarth, Robb Stark and myself cleared of charges. Do this and we will help you fight Viserys.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you left out my name,” Daario grumbled.

“I know nothing about you.” Jon looked at Howland in the eye. “Take the deal, Howland. Or kill me. Those are your only options. Take the deal and we all get what we want. Don’t and everyone will know about the classified information you’ve kept to yourself all this time. That’s going to bring chaos to Westeros and call Olenna Tyrell’s leadership into question. No doubt Viserys Targaryen will fan the fire and take over himself. And he’ll get it. So. How do you intend to finish this game, Howland?  
”  
“You’re bluffing.”

“Bluffing? Along with those classified information are compromising photos of your daughter. They will be made public—“

“You son of a bitch—“Howland swore, rising from the couch. He froze when Jon suddenly pulled out a gun and pointed it at him. Paling, he sank down heavily.

“That sweet daughter of yours will be humiliated, I guarantee you that. For starters.” Jon’s smile was cold. “She’s so excited for her date with Lancel Lannister that she forgot one important item of clothing.”

Howland looked at Daario. He dropped his head against the couch. “I wish I can tell you it isn’t true.” 

At that moment, the Marillon Philharmonic launched into the screeching solos mimicking the stab in the heart that killed the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

 

It was early evening when they docked at the marina. Jaqen told them that he will need to get in touch with his people right away but that they were not to leave the boat yet. Robb however insisted in accompanying him. Jaqen glanced at Brienne discreetly, who nodded. She knew he wanted to make sure Jaqen didn’t tip off the authorities. They trusted the man but not completely. Not yet.

Brienne climbed below deck, where Jaime had been hiding for the last hour. His profile faced Brienne as he looked out to the sea from a round window. He sat on the narrow bed he had warmed when they went to Skagos.

“We’ll have to wait awhile,” she told him, entering the room. She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt looking at him. Jaime stood up as she approached.“Are you alright?”

Jaime nodded but didn’t sit back down on the bed. Brienne did, however.

A black hair dye she had found in the bathroom back in Skagos was given for Jaime to use. Brienne stifled a laugh at his disgruntled expression as she helped him color his beautiful golden blocks into that of a starless night sky. Next, he shaved off his beard—he didn’t complain about that one because his face was beginning to itch and Brienne had red burns on various parts of her body as proof of how uncomfortable it had become.  
The black hair disguised his real blond color but not his looks. If anything, it made him look more striking and chiselled. Since she couldn’t cough up contacts, she found him an old pair of reading glasses that Renly had left behind. 

She had given him some of her clothes. They were of similar size though she was wider at the shoulders, and smaller at the waist. Her old, denim jacket hung on him but the gray sweater fit him well. The dark pants, more fitted than his usual size, showed the straining muscles of his thighs as he walked. He had exchanged his canvas sneakers for one of her boots. He had smiled at her as he put them on, saying that they were the same size feet. 

Jaime didn’t look like a golden Lannister but a rough and rugged, attractive working man. Brienne found herself having to relearn how to breathe when looking at him. Jaime didn’t seem aware of his effect on her and for that she was thankful. He would tease her mercilessly if he did.  
Jaime sat down beside her. She sighed, breathing in the clean scent of his soap warm in his skin, and his skin, a scent that she knew was only his. Whenever they were close he would reach for her, thread his fingers between hers or grasp her by the knee, but not now. Accustomed despite only feeling it for a few days, Brienne frowned. What did she expect? They were back in King’s Landing. His sister was within reach. A heaviness began to press on her shoulders, her heart. 

He was a drug to her system, an electric shock to the heart. He was naturally disarming, the one man to make her falter and unsure about a lot of things. He had gone from adversary to lover and, she knew now, much more, but refused to name it, refused to name something that will never be. However, there was a strange, insistent pull in her heart. No song, but a definite, nagging pull that made her head swim yet also enabled her to see things clearly. 

The question is, what exactly am I seeing? What if I’m just seeing things I want to see?

As if tuned in to her thoughts, Jaime turned to her.

His emerald eyes seemed to fill his entire face. He leaned forward and Brienne froze before she looked away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw surprise flit across his face.

Then he shifted away from her. 

Brienne found herself breathing deeply, as if the oxygen had significantly lessened in the last few seconds. Sweat began to form at her nape, slide down to the middle of her back, between her breasts. 

“You don’t want me touching you.”

Jaime spoke the words quietly, without the expected bitterness. Brienne finally looked at him. Her eyes were oceans.

“Let’s not make things more complicated.”

“We don’t have to go out there. We can just turn around.”

“Please,” she pleaded with him. “Don’t. I thought. . .I thought you understood.”

“Of course I do,” now Jaime was bitter, “but I also want you. What’s the guarantee I won’t lose you, Blue?”

She couldn’t. 

“Or what if you lose me?”

Her reply was swift. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Don’t you fucking die for me, Brienne. I’m not worth saving. I’m noth—“

She wouldn’t let him speak it. He wasn’t. Gods, he wasn’t. 

So she kissed him for that horrible thought be unspoken, buried.

Jaime’s arms went around her.  
“No,” she cried out when Jaime started pulling away from her but he started attacking her clothes. “ _Please._ Don’t stop,” she begged and he groaned, telling her he didn’t want to stop too. Together, they wrestled off each other’s pants. Jaime discovered she was wearing white cotton underwear, and he confessed harshly he didn’t think it was her colour until now. She rubbed against his hand, hating the barrier of the thin fabric. Growling, he grabbed it and tore it off her as if it burned and flung it angrily in some direction in the room. Brienne gasped his name as his hand covered her sopping cunt. He cupped the rough, wiry curls.

“I’m sorry this is going to be quick,” he told her as he pushed her down the bed. She nodded, spreading her legs wide apart, tilting her hips toward his jutting cock. It was golden and thick and beading at the tip. Impatiently, she reached for him and spread the moisture down his thick length. Jaime’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before his hand joined hers. Then he was pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it, her palm, her fingers. He stretched himself over her, his breath warm and fast on her face. Fierce emeralds and sapphires met. 

She tucked her hands under his armpits, around his back. He groaned again but this time asked if she was ready, did she bring any. . .?

Red-faced, she confessed she hadn’t thought so she didn’t have anything.

“We’ve fucked without protection,” he told her, breathing hard. She remembered. The kitchen. The ground. “You know . . . what I’ve done.”  
She nodded, wrapping her legs around him. “I’m clean.”

“You’re pure and innocent,” he said, cupping her face. “You deserve better.”

She shook her head. “Jaime, I need you.”

“Don’t you die for me,” he begged her just before pushing in. She gasped, her nails digging in the firm flesh of his muscled back. He grunted, rolling his hips and opening a new spiral of sensation. “Promise me you’ll save yourself, Brienne.”

“I’ll save you,” she gasped as he grabbed her hips and started fucking her.

“No,” he groaned. He spoke against her cheek. He dragged one of her impossibly long legs over his shoulder and pushed in. Brienne grunted at the new angle, stiffening, redder in the face, before her lips opened and out came a moan. Again, he lunged deep.

_“Yes.”_

They moved like the sea, pushing and retreating, both fast and slow. He kept trying to force her to vow to keep herself alive, to not save him. She refused and he would have pushed her until he saw the tears sliding down the corners of her eyes. How could he ask her to fail? She had failed Renly. She wasn’t there. Not this time, she thought, receiving his fevered kisses with a hunger that matched his. She would give her life to ensure he walked away from his mess unharmed. Alive. Her cries filled the room and he took them in his mouth.

When they had each other again, they were free from their shirts. Jaime pulled Brienne on top of him, tilting his head up to tongue her tight nipples and drag them between his lips. His fingers and nails dug in the firm flesh of her bottom as she fell apart the second time. They whispered, begged, refused, impossible vows. For each round, they thought this was it, this was the last time, the need would be sated. But Jaime would only reach for her and she was quick, eager, to spread her legs. Brienne would whisper his name and he took her mouth in a searing kiss, pressing himself between her strong thighs.  


Her heart, having shattered in a thousand pieces before they left Skagos, couldn’t take it anymore. Brienne begged that they stop, tearing her mouth away from Jaime. To her shame, tears sprang from her eyes and she turned away, hating herself. Jaime put his arms around her, his lips on her nape. His tears rushed down her shoulders.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” Brienne whispered, still not facing him. “I’m not like this.”

“If that’s what you want. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want,” Jaime tightened his hold on her. He wasn’t urging her to look at him. But he pulled her to sit on his lap. Her arms went around him then, silk and sinew locking him to her chest. He inhaled the scent of her throat, sweat, faded soap and Brienne. Another deep breath. He wanted her in his blood. Above, her sobs were wet, painful sounds that dug at his heart.  
“You’re a stubborn mule,” he spoke against her neck. He kissed her. “Hells but Blue, I want you.”

She shook her head wildly. Then she spoke of the one thing she promised herself never to mention in his arms.

“She loves you.”

Jaime held her tighter. It was beginning to get difficult to breathe but she didn’t want to push him away. .

“And you love her.”

Without warning, Jaime snapped his head up to hers. His eyes shone but without gladness. “Hate me. Curse me. Hit me, Brienne. Because I don’t deserve your tears. You deserve better—“

She kissed him again. He gripped her head, keeping her lips pressed to his. This time they tasted each other’s tears. 

It fell on Jaime to end it this time. His eyes ate up the straw-coloured mess of her hair, her swollen, watery sapphire eyes, her mouth that looked thicker and fuller from their kisses. Her skin was mottled and redder than ever. An uglier face that he had come to—

She looked away, as if he had broadcasted his thought. Jaime put his hands on her face and urged her to look at him. He told her, brokenly, “Just say the word, Brienne. We’ll go away together. Wherever you want.” Just as long as you put away that foolish notion of dying to save me, he silently. Distance was the only thing that would keep her from doing it. 

“I know,” she said after a moment. She dropped her eyes. “That’s why I won’t.”

Heavy footsteps thudded above them. Jaime brushed her short hair away from her face. He didn’t speak anymore but his eyes still begged her to reconsider. Brienne took his hands away from her and for the last time, turned away from him. Jaime had to dig his nails in his palms as he watched her pick up her clothes and begin to cover herself, hungrier for her more than ever.

Above, they heard Robb calling for them. 

Agents of the WCA kept him for questioning for two hours. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was all the awful accusations they heaped on his Sapphire. They couldn’t be true and he believed none of it.  
Over and over the same questions were asked, but with different permutations. That almost drove Selwyn Tarth up the wall. Finally, his blue eyes cold, he asked the stone-faced agents point-blank if he was under arrest. 

“No,” they said.

“Then you can’t hold me,” and he was out of the room before they could even think of stopping him. 

Selwyn knew it was far from over. When he finally made it home, it was to the news that his sweet Brienne was wanted for questioning regarding the kidnapping of Jaime Lannister. Not only that, she was considered armed and extremely dangerous. Selwyn was disbelieving until the news showed Brienne’s face and her associates, two men, one named Robb Stark and another Jon Snow. 

What had his daughter gotten into? She was a godsdamn assistant at King’s Corporation and Assets! 

Selwyn was unable to sleep, sunk in worry as he was. When two days passed and there was still no word from Brienne, he called his department chair and requested for some time off. Dr. Goodwin was told him it might be for the best since the university was crawling with more cops than usual because it was believed Brienne would try to get in touch with him there. But before the two men said goodbye, Dr. Goodwin extracted a promise from Selwyn to return as soon as possible, no matter the outcome of the scandal.

When Brienne had visited him, he had already sensed trouble. Something was missing from her eyes, and her eyes, much like his, have always been an indicator to her true feelings. Then their talk, where she refused to give him any clear answer. Selwyn had raised her to be independent and strong, yet never failed to remind her of the old words of House Tarth: “Strong as the tide.” He had taught her to be relentless, to be consistent. Mayhaps if he had given more importance to her looks, his daughter would be very different, no, she certainly would be. Besides, she was beautiful to him because of her big heart and gentle nature. These he still saw when she visited him and it was reassuring. Things are not as bad, he thought. His daughter was young and working in a successful company with a very driven boss. It was expected that she would experience work blues every now and then.

Selwyn certainly had not expected for his sweet, darling daughter to be thought of as a criminal.

Day and night since his questioning, Selwyn was never far from the phone and refused to set foot in the house. He tasked the neighbor’s sixteen-year-old son, Ronnet Connighton, who sometimes mowed the lawn for him, to buy extra groceries and whatever else a woman on the run might need. It didn’t help that the winds were particularly strong, the last hurrah of spring before summer began. The wind rustled the leaves, the slender stems of plants and some branches of the trees in the garden brushed against the doors and windows, making a tapping sound.

Twice he thought it was actual knocking and he had run from his library to the front door only to find nothing. Mother, take care and protect her, Selwyn thought as he looked out into the darkness. He hoped that at least, wherever Brienne was, she was warm and fed. 

Selwyn was in his study, concentrating on editing a friend’s latest book, when he heard the familiar tapping sound on the front door. He continued, ignoring it. It disappeared after a while. 

Until he heard the unmistakable creak on the floorboards.

Selwyn, frowning, looked up, expecting to see nothing. Instead, he saw a ghost.

But do ghosts get older? Selwyn yanked off his reading glasses and blinked at the blond, gray-eyed woman standing by the door.

“Alysanne?” he whispered.

“Hello, my love,” Wenda said with a soft smile stolen from the Maiden before she shot him.


	44. The Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Open your eyes, Catelyn. We both know you know I’m here,” came Howland’s irritated voice.  
> Catelyn opened her eyes to see the WCA director standing before her as a guard remained outside, locking the door. Seeing her acknowledgment, he went to her bed and put the box he was carrying there.

Five. . .four. . .three. . .two. . .one. Catelyn pushed herself back to the floor, easily balancing on her palms and her feet, despite the muscles in her arms and thighs straining, before heaving herself up. Sweat poured down her throat as she took a deep breath and straightened to her feet.

Sweat gleamed on her face and down her arms, and more spots mapped the t-shirt she was wearing. She brushed the back of her hand on her forehead as a sliver threatened to slide down her eye. Her heart was the lone sound in the silence of the Black Cells.

Today was the seventh day since her arrest, and her fourth day in this hell. She had no idea what was going on outside and so far, there was no dent or chink in her armor because she refused to think about Ned and her family. To do would begin her unravelling and that would be giving that bastard Howland what he wanted.  
Catelyn pushed her damp auburn hair away from her still-sweating shoulders as she slipped on the long-sleeved gray shirt that had become her uniform, and gray pants. Her feet were shod in thin socks and cheap canvas sneakers. 

Things could get worse. Being in the Black Cells cut off from everything save for the silent guard that pushed her meal tray between the gaps of the bars could be maddening and Catelyn knew that the longer she was here, the further away from her mind she was going to be. Exercise helped her focus as well as stay sane—fifty sit-ups and one hundred push-ups. She also meditated for half an hour.

That still left plenty of time for thoughts. Catelyn made sure she thought only of her team. The fact that she had not heard any commotion outside her door meant that she was still alone in this wing. Which also meant Robb and Brienne had managed to escape before it was too late, that Jon had done as she’d instructed. Jaqen, whoever he was with, should be safe too. She didn’t care if Jaime Lannister was unharmed or not although yes, having him around her team had become a lot similar to holding a live grenade.

Catelyn had just sat down on the cold, hard floor for her daily meditation when the hard jangle of keys reached her ears. She tensed and stiffened, quickly alert for any other sound. There were the heavy boots on the floor that came from the guard, and the lighter shuffle of footsteps which meant footwear that was less durable.   
And they were getting closer.

Catelyn had her eyes closed when she heard the metal door leading to her wing swing open. She was holding her breath and slowly exhaling as the footsteps neared her. The dark hid the wrinkling of her nose at the familiar whiff of cologne. Her head high, her hands spread on her folded knees, she listened as the door to her cell was unlocked with a dull, buzzing sound before it slid open. The too-strong smell of cologne was now a punch to her nose.

“Open your eyes, Catelyn. We both know you know I’m here,” came Howland’s irritated voice.

Catelyn opened her eyes to see the WCA director standing before her as a guard remained outside, locking the door. Seeing her acknowledgment, he went to her bed and put the box he was carrying there.

“Your clothes. Your personal effects.” He said. “You’re free to go.”

“Now, Howland,” she said, still sitting on the floor in a meditative pose. “We both know this is way below your pay grade.”

“If your freedom disinterests you, you’ll have to tell him yourself.”

She frowned. “Him?”

They stared at each other, unwilling to be the first to blink. Despite the poor lighting in her cell, Catelyn saw that Howland was not his usual impeccable self. Sections of his gray-white air stood up, instead of slicked back with the others. His normally placid expression, one of often dramatic benevolence and wanted to be introduced to her fist, was an irritated scowl, reminding her of a brat whose toys have been taken away. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Catelyn,” Howland was the first to speak. “You’re not bothered what your husband may be going through? Or your children?”

Of course she did. She just refused to be swept by emotion. “Ned knew this might happen when we got married. If you think to use my poor husband against me you’re fucking up the wrong tree, Howland. “ Her lips twisted at the words poor husband. “Come at me with what you have, Howland. A day like this is one I’ve been preparing for since I vowed to serve Westeros.”

“Your agent. That Jon Snow.” Howland spat the name. “You owe him your freedom. This is certainly not my idea.”

“Well, Howland, we both know you’re not a tease. Don’t worry. I didn’t think you had anything to do with it. I do wonder what he has on you that’s brought you down here?”

“You’re a cold-hearted bitch for not giving even one little thought to your family, Catelyn,” Howland raged at her. “But I do. That damned agent of yours. . .he has collected abominations against my daughter. If not for Meera, you’d rot here until your death.”

“So he’s making you fetch me from down here?”

“He won’t give me copies of the files on my daughter if I don’t.”

For the first time in days, a pleased smile touched Catelyn’s face.

“That’s my boy,” she murmured, rising to her feet in one smooth motion. “Well. I do have to get out of these wretched clothes. Could you turn around Howland and give me some privacy or would you rather leave?” As she spoke, she reached for her clothes in the box. “Because I’m fine with either.” 

Ten minutes later, Catelyn was brought up to ground level. She was signed out by Howland, who went through the task of filling out all necessary forms with long-suffering sighs. Finally, they were strolling out of the building.

It felt good to be back in her clothes and it was better to have the familiar weight of her wedding ring around her finger. Catelyn steeled herself from the pleasure of having the sun warming her face as she stepped out, Howland walking beside her. Her eyes softened with pride when she saw Jon leaning against the door of his car, arms crossed. 

“When this is all done, I will file a recommendation that the Golden Company be dissolved,” Howland spoke under his breath but Catelyn heard every word. “It is necessary to go through the proper government channels, Catelyn. You and your agents have gone running amok.”

“Only because you haven’t been forthcoming with pertinent information, ” Catelyn replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll be more than happy to counter every recommendation you make Howland. This mess is your fault.”

“It was necessary. You weren’t even aware of a mole within your agency.”

Catelyn’s heart stilled but she continued walking. “Again, you could have told us anytime.”

“That tech of yours. That fat kid Tarly. He had Naharis take the fall for his apparent kidnapping. He’s on the Targaryen side. We still can’t find him but we have reason to believe he’s with that dragon boy. He’s also the one who leaked the video of Agent Tarth attacking Jaime Lannister.”

“This is all on you. Not me. And may I remind you that Naharis resisted arrest and pointed a gun at his fellow agent, _at my son._ ”

“On that front your team has been repaid. Snow shot him and kept him fevered for days before bringing him to a hospital for treatment.”

“I approve.”

Howland suddenly grabbed her the elbow and spun her around to face him. Catelyn’s face was cool yet her eyes narrowed into warning slits while his face was purple-red from barely-restrained anger. 

“You listen to me, Catelyn Stark. You’re only free because your agent managed to get one step ahead of me. But you’ve gone against direct orders, downloaded classified information and distributed it, and fucked up this entire situation with Jaime Lannister, who was only acting upon my orders. You were also remiss with the security within your team.”

“Noted. Now you listen to me. Everything the Golden Company has done is a direct result of your refusal to disclose important information. You’ve endangered the lives of agents and civilians. We may have gone against your direct orders, Howland, but you went against the very tenets as an agent sworn to protect Westeros. You thought you could contol the situation but what’s happened is you and I have both ensured there’s going to be a bloodbath. You tell me it’s necessary. I tell you to remember that it is our duty to protect the country from threats both foreign and domestic. If you need reminding, just watch me. And learn.” The last word rolled with relish on her tongue. 

She snatched her arm away from his hard grasp and shot him a look that said the next time he touched her would mean his death. Howland forced himself to fall back as she walked ahead of him.

“So I owe you my freedom,” Catelyn told Jon Snow as she approached him. She gave him a small, proud smile as he nodded.

“You’ll do the same thing. Howland sure made it easy for me to do what was needed,” Jon told her, giving Howland a mocking salute. 

When Howland reached them, he said, “I’ve satisfied my end of our deal, Snow.”

“Not yet,” Jon said. “The deal was for my team to be cleared of all charges.”

“I can’t just do that. What do you want me to do, say that I made a mistake?” Howland demanded.

Catelyn cocked an eyebrow. “You did make a mistake, Howland. We can’t exactly clean up your mess with the police after us, can we?”

 

 

Since discovering that black ops agents Brienne Tarth and Robb Stark had played him, Oberyn had a short fuse. He ran everyone ragged in his staff updating security protocols and firewalls. Test runs showed flaws. Further tests showed more. 

No one, absolutely no one, outwitted Oberyn Martell, let alone crossed him. Yet that was exactly what had happened. His eyes, obsidian orbs that usually had a silver sparkle to them, were moonless and grim as they regarded Catelyn Stark. She met his stare head-on. 

For mysterious reasons, Howland had pulled him out of the job and told him to meet him at a diner eighty-eight miles outside of King’s Landing. His tone indicated Oberyn was not to ask questions. Red lingered at the corners of his eyes. Didn’t he see how important it was to make a digital fortress, to protect the classified information that a brute attack force wouldn’t even make the slightest dent? This, he pointed out. Howland ordered him to be waiting in front of the office in five minutes.

Daario Naharis was waiting for him, leaning against one of the stone pillars of the building, when Oberyn slid past the revolving glass doors. A nod passed between them and Daario led him to a non-descript black car, limping slightly. Oberyn noticed for the first time the cane he leaned on. When he started to ask, Daario glared at him. “Director Reed said no questions. Now shut up and let me drive.”

Now, Oberyn was in the middle of what the gods only knew where. Grease was thick in the air and hung with the stink of sweat from patrons consisting of rough, guffawing men who spent too much time on their asses and drinking beer. 

He sat in a small booth that was comfortable for two and a tight sandwich for five of them. Howland Reed sat against the wall, looking tired and pissed off as sweat dripped down his temples and down to his tailored black suit. Catelyn Stark was next to him. For someone who had languished in the Black Cells for almost a week, she looked as if she had come from a vacation at the Summer Isles. Across them sat Daario Naharis, who was against the wall. He had protested when Jon ordered him where to sit, saying he needed space for his leg and his cane. 

Jon Snow told him that if he was worried about fitting, he would be more than happy to stuff him in a lunchbox.

He was quite interesting, Oberyn thought, looking at him discreetly. Interesting not in a way that made his pants tight. Interesting because he had not heard much about Jon Snow when every minute that ticked by showed he was someone to watch out for. Black ops, he said to himself, call sign Crow. He made sure you were deader than dead.

He was partners with Brienne Tarth before Renly Baratheon’s disappearance. Daario Naharis was his current partner but from the way things were between them, it was a connection Jon was intent on severing as soon as possible. 

Jon ordered had ordered food for the table without consulting any of them. Oberyn stared with distaste at the sandwich set before him. Daario pushed his food around the plate while Howland set his plate aside. Catelyn wouldn’t even look at her food. Jon removed pickles from his cheeseburger and took a big bite.  
He chewed, the blue of his eyes darkening as he looked at Howland, Daario and Oberyn. Then he put down the cheeseburger and sat back. 

To Howland, he said, “Where’s your phone?”

“What do you want with it?”

“Take it out.”

Looking dubious, Howland pulled out his cellphone.

“On the table,” Jon ordered. Howland looked resistant before obeying.

“Gentlemen, and lady,” Jon told them, “you are aware of the circumstances that’s brought us together. Are there any questions before I proceed? No? Good. Because there isn’t much that I have to say but a lot of damage control that needs to be done pronto.” He pulled out a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and pushed it to Howland.

“You’re going to call Melisandre Seaworth of the Kingsguard Daily Reporter—“

“Seven Hells,” Oberyn swore suddenly. He glared at Howland then Jon before his nostrils flared at Catelyn. “Is that why she’s out? You made a deal with this Crow?”  
“Do you know what I did to Naharis here?” Jon asked.

“What?”

“Tell him.”

“He shot me.” Daario said, sighing heavily. “He shot me and had me dig out the bullet with my own hands. I bled on and on for days because I wouldn’t give him the answers he wanted. When I did that’s when he brought me to the hospital.”

“And as soon as you sat down,” Catelyn added, winking mockingly at Oberyn, “I pointed a gun at your cock.” She nodded at Howland. “Yours too. So if you try to be smart, don’t.”

“You’re going to be tried for this,” Oberyn warned Catelyn. “The Golden Company. Your son.”

“Probably. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I’m not alone.”

“What the hell did you let them do?” Oberyn demanded to Howland.

“Hey. We did nothing wrong. It’s keeping secrets from us that fucked us all and why we’re here. If you’re done screeching like a Wildling, Martell, I want to continue. You’re only here to witness.” Jon growled before he said to Howland, “You will get in touch with Melisandre Seaworth and tell her the truth.”

“What of my name?” Howland asked. “What of my daughter?”

He sounded so pitiful yet Jon was beyond the point of no return. And he never thought of turning back once the plan was in place.

“Hmm. I wonder which is more important? Me leaving the WCA in disgrace or my daughter’s nude photos ending up online? I’ll give you two minutes to decide. Meanwhile, this cheeseburger is very delicious.” 

Howland started for Jon but Catelyn cocked her gun from under the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is coming up shortly. 
> 
> This chapter begins a la Terminator 2: Judgment Day, when Sarah Connor is first show with that insanely buff body.  
> I thought it could apply to Catelyn too.


	45. Our Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right now, she wasn’t thinking of him—she stood straighter, prouder, she spoke clearly. It was quite breathtaking, knowing that when the mission was all she thought about, she was a very different person from the stunning, incredible image of her writhing in his arms helplessly, lust clouding her eyes.

Two days since they’ve returned to King’s Landing. Two, long days of having very little sleep, rest, and very little time to even remember eating. Red mode, as they called it in The Vale, when a spy focused on the mission and nothing else, forgot everything else but the mission, and the body, from head to toe down to the cells, humming with tension and anticipation. 

With Jaqen’s place wrecked from when firemen had burst in and smoke that lingered in the air, they had to find another safehouse. This was where his men Tormund Giantsbane and a guy who insisted to be only called Bronn delivered. They brought the bedraggled team to a warehouse in Silk Street, abandoned only a month before. Water and electricity were still available.

Tormund and Bronn had faces that belonged on Most Wanted lists anywhere. Robb had wanted to leap in front of Brienne when Jaqen introduced them to each other. All that stopped him was the knowledge that Brienne wouldn’t like it if he did that. And including the fact that Jaime Lannister beat him to it, a snarl under his breath when Bronn gave Brienne a too-friendly smile.

“My oh my. You are a magnificent thing, aren’t you?” Bronn remarked, looking at Brienne from head to toe.

Jaqen rolled his eyes at Bronn. “Forget this one, Bronn. He’ll tear you to pieces if you as much as sniff around her.”

“I wouldn’t want to get in the way of true love. But I am glad to make your acquaintance, Agent Tarth,” Bronn said, tipping an imaginary hat to her. To Jaime, he huffed, “Nice to see you standing up. You’re not fat but carrying you threw out our backs.”

It was Brienne who made a move to attack Bronn but Jaime restrained her, just barely. Robb, looking at him, demanded, “Show us what you got.”

Tormund and Bronn, it turned out, were masters in disguise and infiltration. The first part of their plan was to return to Targaryen Industries and know every layout there was about the building. A false fire alarm was out. So Bronn killed the power. 

Brienne went with Tormund, Bronn and Jaqen. Robb reluctantly stayed behind the abandoned warehouse they were living in to watch over their hostage. Dressed in tan jumpsuits and caps drawn low to hide their faces, they entered the building unstopped. Through cameras hidden in plain sight in Brienne’s glasses and the buttons of the men’s clothes, they were able to have a clear map of the place as the images were uploaded. She didn’t want to be surprised with another secret room.  
Now, they were looking at the schematic of Targaryen Industries from a large, flat, computer screen. Tormund and Giantsbane had gotten them the equipment from Jaqen’s list, as instructed by Robb and Brienne. Laptops, computers, surveillance equipment and the like. 

They were standing in front of the computer. Jaqen was guiding the mouse through sections of the schematic they were pointing out. Robb was all about questions and Tormund, Bronn and Brienne took turns answering and pointing out specific areas of the Targaryen Industries. Jaime hung back a little, observing but spending more time looking at Brienne.

They had not touched since that night in the marina. In any other instance, Jaime would think she was rejecting him and forgetting all that had happened between them. It hurt, more than physically, that she hadn’t come to his bed or that he couldn’t touch her. 

Still, there were too many moments when he caught Brienne staring at him with a longing he had come to know well since she had looked at him with her sapphire eyes in the afterglow of their making love the first night. Jaime knew a look was all he was going to get and wouldn’t dream of forcing her to change her mind. The mission, she had told him. 

And he did need to finish what he’d started. Get back to his family.

Before, thinking of home meant Cersei, blond and golden and lovelier than ever in the sunlight, waiting for him with open arms. He still desired his sister. There was a possibility he could forgive her everything she had done, keeping their son away from him and lying all these years, that she had been the one to plant that abominable idea about Tyrion in their father’s head, he could. He could find it within himself to forgive her. As long as she asks, he thought. 

This was where a storm brewed inside him. On one hand, he hoped Cersei would ask for forgiveness, throw herself at his feet and weep and cry that she was sorry, she would do all within her power to earn his forgiveness if only he would love her still, hold her again. On the other hand, he dreaded the idea that she might actually do it. Cersei was still his weakness, his undoing. If she asked, he knew he would forgive her. Might love her still.

And you couldn’t love two women.

Was it love he felt for Agent Brienne Tarth? Jaime wondered, watching as she crossed her arms and spoke, pointing at the screen and nodding and shaking her head at comments Robb and Jaqen made. Her eyes were still brilliant sapphires but they were hooded and serious, almost grave. Right now, she wasn’t thinking of him—she stood straighter, prouder, she spoke clearly. It was quite breathtaking, knowing that when the mission was all she thought about, she was a very different person from the stunning, incredible image of her writhing in his arms helplessly, lust clouding her eyes. 

She tugged at him in ways he never thought he would be affected.

She made him respond in ways he didn’t think possible.

She looked at him in that wordless way that spoke of everything and more. 

She moved him. The very idea that she was real moved him.

Yet, at the back of his thoughts, there lingered his sister. 

“Jaime,” Brienne was speaking to him. Her voice was the call of the siren. His doom, perhaps, the fluttering in his heart kicks of protest or anticipation. He didn’t know. 

“Jaime,” she said again, glancing at the computer then back at him, “could you point out where the Wildfyre is kept?”

Jaime strode forward. He had to stand close to Brienne in order to lean over Jaqen’s shoulder and point. “It’s over here. Could you zoom in? Yes. The floor is restricted. Only me, Viserys and my assistant Dr. Talisa Maegyr could enter it. But in order to get to the room containing Wildfyre, it needs my DNA, my retinal scan. The system is also programmed against imposters. So if Robb were to wear my mask,” he said, nodding briefly at the other agent, “ and somehow get his hands on my blood and my eyeball, it’s still wouldn’t work. The security has also programmed my breathing and moving patterns. Every individual is unique.”

“Seven fucking hells,” Bronn swore.

Robb wanted to know, “Did you design it like this?”

“I had to. Howland Reed told me to continue with the Wildfyre. I disagreed but he wanted to ferret out whoever wants to get their hands on it. It was the only way. I had to ensure that only I get to handle the Wildfyre.”

“Despite all these, can we count that Viserys had not accessed it?” Brienne asked.

“He has tried, for sure. He can’t. When the system senses a threat, it closes up. There’ no way to access it. It’s a thinking system.” Jaime told her. “You can kill the power, it closes up. Try hacking it and it will release a virus into your system.” He looked at the computer. “The only way in, really, is to get in.”

Silence fell around them. They were all thinking the same thing: it was an impossible mission.

Jaime looked at Brienne, silently prompting her to look at him. Just a look of those blues gave him some clarity, even for a while. Maybe because she heard him, she turned to him.

He had to shove his hand in his jacket pocket to stop it from climbing to her cheek. 

“We need a way in,” she said softly, “without anyone knowing we’re there.”

“With our faces, that’s going to be impossible,” Robb remarked.

Bronn, suddenly smug, announced, “I have an idea.”

 

 

That night, Brienne lay in her bed, staring up at the dark, beamed ceiling. The bedroom was the old office of the warehouse. They had used the old partitions of cubicles to give themselves some privacy despite the shared space. There was no way to block out Tormund’s snores, however, or Jaqen’s talking in his sleep.  
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow it all ends. 

It should bring relief, the end of a mission that had gone too long. Tomorrow felt like the nail in the coffin.

Brienne refused to think about what tomorrow will bring and so concentrated on sleeping. She needed it. Her mind and body had been wired from the moment they returned to King’s Landing. Add to that a broken heart. It was a miracle she could still function. 

In her sleep, she sailed in a sea of dreams of explosives and green fields, a miasma of images and emotions that flung her like a rag doll. Her mother swooped toward her, winged and with a knife. Brienne saw herself bound to the ground, struggling futilely but it was too late. Wenda slashed the air towards her throat, a pained, familiar cry that was Selwyn’s---

Brienne woke up with a gasp.

“Are you alright?”

Still breathing hard, she squinted at the tall shape of a man in the dark. He stood at the foot of her sleeping bag. A harder look showed the familiar breadth of broad shoulders. He spoke again. 

Rubbing her eyes, her shoulders sagging in relief in spite of the wild galloping in her heart, she whispered, “Jaime.”

Still seeing the images of her dark dream, Brienne could hardly respond as Jaime came to her, his lips kissing her all over her face as if she were beautiful, his hands roaming her sweat-damp back and chest. She fell back against the sleeping bag with the force of his passion, taking him with her. His lips rubbed against her jaw, her throat. His scent, of sweat and cotton, filled her head and she clung to him. 

“Jaime,” she whispered, feeling the familiar rush of a hot tide that only came with him. She allowed herself to kiss him once, twice, sucking at his lower lip as he liked to do with her. His groan was ragged and filled her ear, the room. Quickly, she slapped a hand over his mouth. 

He cupped her cheek. 

Her hand fell.

“Let me hold you tonight, Brienne,” he begged her, his voice husky and strained. “Being that it may be the last time.”

Brienne hung her head. The last time. How bitter it felt, yet also sweet that they could have this last night.

“It is the last time,” she told him. It was a death sentence. Theirs. 

He pressed his forehead against hers. He was warm. She took a deep breath. She wanted to take all of him with her, in her. She wanted him in her blood.

“I don’t need to lay between your legs, Brienne,” he whispered, his lips moving against her. “But I need to hold you. Please let me.”

She put her arms around him. He sighed against her shoulder. 

She lifted the blanket and he crawled under it. He pulled her to his chest, his lips against her nape. Brienne lifted her t-shirt and pulled his hand toward her breasts.  
Jaime stilled and told her, breathlessly, “I did not come to you for this.”

But he cupped her breasts hesitantly as he spoke, pressed himself against her. His cock dug against her backside and she rubbed against him, her eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. They gasped together. Then Brienne felt herself being turned to face Jaime. How she wished it wasn't so dark, when she could see his eyes. All she knew were what her hands showed her--the elegant curve of his brow, his high cheekbone. His lips. She traced it with her mouth.

“If I can’t have you anymore, at least touch me. Really touch me,” she begged him. “I don’t need you to go further than that.” She pulled his hand toward her chest again.

“Brienne,” he whispered, taking her lips. She pulled off her tee and he gasped upon feeling her naked skin. Together they pulled at the other's clothes until nothing else was between them but a great, mounting need. She lay on her back and he mapped her body with hands and lips. She bit into her fist as he pushed his tongue deep in her cunt. Her moans and his hungry slurps broke through the night, along with the rustling covers on her sleeping bag. Her fingers pulled at his hair, maybe to stop him from winding her up so impossibly, maybe she wanted more. She knew nothing, only his body between her legs. When his cock replaced his tongue, she screamed and he had to muffle it with his own mouth. She sucked hard on his tongue still slick and thick with her own flavour. There will be bruises on her back in the morning but she didn't stop him, desperate for one last taste of Jaime Lannister, Jaime who was fucking her as if to push her through the ground. His hands locked around her wrists, dragged her arms to her ears so all she could do was receive him and he took all she had. Tears fell from her eyes then and he licked them before his own tears fell on her cheeks.

"Again," came her strangled demand a while later. "Jaime, please." And she climbed over him, taking his lips in her mouth. He fisted himself as he pushed into the wet depths of her cunt. They swallowed each other's grunts and muffled cries. "Again," she begged on the brink of her release. He wished she would not stop begging. He wished this night was forever. She wanted him to have everything she could give. Limp and weak, she could only hold him after the bliss of her release, hissing and shuddering with every tired but determined swipe of his tongue on her nipples. Then he was turning her again, spreading her legs. Still tender, a grimace twisted her face as his cock pushed inside in one thrust but it was too dark for him to see and she didn't care. She could only want and need.

And she fell asleep, finally, his hand heavy and warm on her beating heart, his whispers of her name lulling her to a dreamless, peaceful sleep, one she had not had in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all coming together soon!


	46. Unwavering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can’t live with failing at my duty.”  
> “Honor won’t warm your bed,” Jaime snapped, trying to get through her for the last time.  
> “But I won’t lose myself.”  
> “You’ll never lose yourself with me, Blue. You’ll always be you.”

Brienne woke up with a start, and in doing so, roused Jaime, whose head was resting on her chest. He mumbled something, his dry lips rough against her skin. Innocent and unintentional though it was, she found herself tensing like a coiled spring. When Jaime nuzzled her neck, his hands moving under shirt to touch bare skin, she held her breath. 

Since her stabbing, she had become used to waking up in his arms or her own wrapped around him. It had become a familiar thing, waking up to the warmth of his skin against her or his soapy scent surrounding her like a blanket. In the two days they had purposefully avoided each other, she opened her eyes to the new day warm with this memory. Now he was back, she thought, turning carefully to look at him. For the last time. He was fast asleep again.

Her fingers itched to touch his hair, even though they were black and not the rich, golden blond that she had clung to as they kissed. She wanted to kiss him, warm the coolness of his lips. Most of all, she wanted to fold him in her arms and never let go. 

“You’re right,” she whispered. “We should have run away.”

She looked away, resolved to continue with what must be done because it was the right thing. As she freed herself from the blankets, Jaime began to move. She watched him curl towards the space she had just vacated, like a cat looking for the warmth of his owner. He inhaled deeply. She put on the rest of her clothes and drew the blanket over his naked body.

Brienne washed her face in the shared bathroom and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked paler and her freckles were more vivid than usual. She didn’t know if she looked wretched with fever (and she wasn’t sick) or if this was the so-called healthy glow (she didn’t feel good at all, not from the inside, not for a while). Sighing, she took the stairs to their makeshift kitchen.

Robb sat with his back behind her by the counter. But she could tell he was assembling his handgun, timing himself. Finished, he picked up his watch and took apart the piece again. She put a hand on his shoulder as she sat beside him. He gave her a barely imperceptible nod as he continued to beat his own time.

Brienne watched his hands fly over the pieces, barely touching them. But she knew the weight of his hands to be firm and sure in order for the pieces to fit and click in place. Done, Brienne picked up his watch this time.

“Twenty-six seconds. What was your previous time?”

Robb was sheepish. “I’m getting a little rusty. Twenty-nine.”

She grinned. “You’re an old man.”

“Ouch.”

She reached for the gun and started disassembling it. “Make sure it wasn't a fluke.”

Robb rolled his eyes but a grin stretched the corners of his lips as he started putting together the handgun again. His hands took flight again. Then he was done. Brienne glaned at his watch.

“Twenty-six seconds.”

“Let’s see you beat my time,” he told her, taking the pieces apart. 

“You’re asking for tears,” Brienne huffed as she reached for the first.

If Robb’s hands seemed to fly, Brienne’s were a swirl of activity. The movements of her hands could hardly be seen and they did not seem to touch the pieces at all. When she clicked the final piece in place, Robb took his watch.

“Twenty-five seconds,” he said, clearing his throat.

She handed it to him, muzzle-down. “Again.”

“It was luck,” Robb told her, doing as she asked.

She assembled the gun again. He picked up the watch. “Twenty-five seconds.”

Smirking, Brienne stood up and went to the fridge. Robb continued to sit down, watching her.

“Tonight our watch ends,” he told her as she pulled out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. She pulled out a pancake mix from the cupboard next.

Brienne, who was beginning to turn on the stove, paused and gave a small nod. “Tonight it ends.”

Robb stood up as she cracked eggs over the edge of the frying pan. As oil spat, he stood up and began to set the table. 

Brienne looked at Robb as he put plates and utensils down the long, rectangular table that was simply a flat piece of wood laid over some high stools with sturdy legs. She returned her attention to the eggs she was cooking before she scooped them up. She tossed in the bacon next.

The scene was painfully domestic. Anyone peering at them would think they were a couple together for years, and had long cloaked themselves in the comfort of each other’s presence and love. Brienne supposed that being partners with Robb, they did have a relationship, though it never crossed the personal. No matter how many times they’ve played the couple and made out, neither of them thought of going beyond the boundaries of work. 

With Renly, they knew each other before she became an agent. They had kept in touch and she was pleasantly surprised to find him as her subject on her last test. Without any word spoken of it, they started to trust and rely on each other. But it also took time.

Whereas she knew the asset less than two weeks and not only started sleeping with him. Brienne felt the promise of the emotion she refused to acknowledge hanging in the corner, politely waiting for her to turn around and call it forward before it thought to make itself known.  
Huffing, she started preparing the pancake mix, pouring the powder into a bowl, cracking an egg over it, pouring milk. In between, she kept an eye on the long strips of meat beginning to curl in the heat. 

“Are you ready?” Robb’s voice cracked into her thoughts.

Deliberately misreading him, she started to get the perfectly-crisp bacon from the pan. “The pancakes will take me ten minutes.”

“Brienne.” Robb wasn’t letting this go. “Talk to me.”

She glanced at him as she poured a small amount of pancake batter on the pan. “What’s there to say? I have not forgotten the mission, Robb, if that’s your concern.”

“He didn’t sleep in his bed.”

Brienne’s face colored to a deep tomato as she glared at Robb. “Hey, what’s this?”

He spread his hands. “This comes from care, Brienne. I’m not speaking as an agent. I’m your friend.”

“If you’re my friend, you’ll stay out of my business.”

“That’s what partners do.”

“Then be my fucking partner. I don’t need a friend. I need somebody whose head is in the game. Can you do that?”

Robb threw the question back at her. “Can you?”

Brienne flipped the pancake and glared at him. “What are you implying?”

“Implying. Hells, that’s going to be lost on you now. I want to know if you’re really ready or you’re just mouthing off words out of habit, Brienne. Whatever it is you have with Lannister, it’s over.”

“Don’t you think I know what?”

“He didn’t sleep in his bed,” Robb repeated.

“I have known,” Brienne spoke, enunciating each word with gritted teeth, “from the very beginning. We only took what we can have and we’ve agreed it will never go further than that.”

“Does he agree?”

“Bloody Seven Hells. You think I've gone soft.” 

Brienne took out the pancake and poured another.

“He’s gotten into you. Do I have to remind you what he is?”

“Do I have to remind you who I am and what I'm capable of? Because we can go at it, right now. Let’s take this outside. We’ll see who hurts who.” 

“We both know throwing punches at me doesn’t make you an agent.”

“And questioning me about my ability makes you one?” Brienne wanted to go over to Robb and kick him in the head. “Do you have any idea, any idea what I’m going through?”

Robb was silent. But he said, "We have our own cross to bear. 

“I’m not only talking about Jaime, stupid. I’m talking about my father. What do you think has happened to him? Because I refuse. I have a mission and that’s where my head is, not on whoever’s questioning my Dad. How worried he is. What’s happened to him. What I would give to have him know I’m okay. And my. . . mother. “ Brienne’s eyes were a dark blue storm as they bore at him from the gas range. “I won’t go to pieces when Jaime leaves, Robb, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve got my head where it’s supposed to be and that’s the mission. Never question my capability as an agent again.”

She flipped the pancake, smoothly. Her motions were light and easy, underlying the temper threatening to rip out of her. 

Robb’s voice was soft. “Done.”

Maybe more would have been said if not for Jaqen rapping loudly on the steel wall that divided the kitchen from the rest of the warehouse. It was clear he had been standing there for sometime. 

“You need to see this,” he said.

 

“The repercussions of this report by Melisandre Seaworth absolves Brienne Tarth, Robb Stark and Jon Snow,” the newscaster was saying from the television. “However, the whereabouts of Jaime Lannister remain unknown. Melisandre Seaworth’s article does not discuss the details of the leaked video but states that Brienne Tarth, the woman suspected behind the Lannister heir’s disappearance, has nothing to do with him. . .”

The five of them were gathered around the TV set of what had become their operations room. Jaqen was the only one sitting down while Bronn and Jaime flanked Brienne, Robb and Tormund from behind. Jaqen turned to look at the two agents in the report.

“You know what this means,” he said.

“We’re still not sure.” Brienne was frowning. “We need to get our hands on that paper.”

“We may have been cleared. But what’s to say there won’t be a reporter beating at our door or flooding our answering machine?” Robb pointed out. “We still can’t go out there. And with people knowing what we look like and what we are. All our covers have just been compromised.”

Brienne had to agree. “This throws off our plans.”

“Maybe not,” Tormund spoke up. “Remember. It’s a masque ball.”

“We still have to submit to necessary security checks before we can get in,” Brienne pointed out. "That means unmasked."

“What if we can get clean identities for you?” Tormund was thinking out loud. “It doesn’t entirely throw off our plans. We can get one of our own as part of the security for the event and check you in. But we’re going to have to upload your clean identities onto Targaryen’s database.”

“Can you do this?” Brienne was still frowning. “Get us clean identities?”

This was where Tormund and Bronn exchanged a look. “It’s going to cost us a lot.”

Robb glanced at Jaime who shrugged and went, “What? I’m a Lannister in name only. I make a lot less than you do. I’ve been disowned, if any of you recall.”

“We’ll get you back to your family. Your father will take you back,” Brienne vowed with more fierceness than expected. Flushing, she turned back to Bronn and Tormund. “What do you mean? Who will you be talking to?”

“We can’t talk about him here,” Bronn said, clearing his throat. “We know the guy but he doesn’t want anyone outside our circle knowing him.Jaqen will tell you I speak the truth.”

Robb held up a hand. “Hold on. Where exactly are you going to talk about this character?”

“On the way,” Tormund answered. He looked at Brienne.

She exchanged a look with Robb. “You mean to take me?”

“We don’t have much time.”

“I don’t trust this at all,” Jaime said this time. He grabbed Brienne’s hand and, surprising everyone, she let him hold her. “You’re going to some guy who doesn’t like anyone knowing about him and you’re taking her with you. What’s the guarantee he won’t go off you by taking a stranger?”

“If she’s with them, she’s safe,” Jaqen said. “I know the man. You know him too. He was the one that made you come off as dead.”

Shock spread across Jaime’s face until Brienne, tightening her hold on his hand, had him looking at her. It was remarkable. His face immediately calmed, his brow smoothening, the tension disappearing from his shoulders. Robb noticed this and Brienne, seeing him, began to remove her hand from Jaime. He frowned again and held it fast.

“Your decision, Agent Tarth,” Bronn told her. “We know how to get you in. But you’re going to have to trust us. This is still your show, we won’t be overstepping if that’s what worries you. Jaqen enlisted our help so this is us. Helping.”

Robb and Brienne looked at each other again.

Jaime came to a decision. “I’m going with her.”

Protests immediately rang. Jaqen said he was endangering himself. Robb said he will get himself killed thinking with his cock. Bronn and Tormund said their guy might think of taking Jaime and he will actually get kidnapped. Brienne’s protest was the softest. He turned to her.

“You can’t demand I stay,” he said stubbornly.

“If I can’t make you,” she told him, “they will.”

“He doesn’t like strangers, Jaime,” Jaqen said.

“She’s safe with us,” Tormund said.

“Not to mention that she’s a killing machine,” Robb said. He smiled too pleasantly at Bronn and Tormund. “No funny business or she will break your necks.”

Jaime yanked Brienne close. “We need to talk.”

“Jaime—“

 _“Now.”_  
It was almost laughable how he walked and had her tumbling and tripping after him, her eyes wide and looking very blue, unsure and outraged. The men were smart enough to look away or find themselves quickly occupied with something else. “Jaime—“ Brienne started to say again as he pulled her to the kitchen. 

“Shut up, Blue. Hear me out for once.”

Getting her to sit down was like pushing against a wall but he managed, just about. He knelt before her. He still held her hand. This time he took the other in his. 

He kissed her knuckles. Deep kisses matched with deeper inhales.

“I heard you,” he told her, kissing her knuckles.

“No, you didn’t. You haven’t let me speak—“

“This morning. When you woke up. I heard you.” 

Brienne looked away but she was red from hairline to throat in three seconds. 

“I want you to know it’s not too late. We can still walk away from this. We can disappear. I have some money saved up—“

“No, Jaime. No.” Brienne said vehemently. She tried taking her hands from him but he tightened his grip. “No. We’re not doing that.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to be with me?”

“More than you know.” 

Her eyes softened at those words but they got hard quickly.

“I have a mission. That’s you. Can you live with yourself knowing you had a chance to save lives but didn’t?”

“I don’t care about everyone else. Only you. And I’m telling you this to save you.”

“I don’t need saving. If this country’s security and future demand my life then so be it. It’s what I’ve been trained to do since day one and what I’m prepared to do. I won’t be able to live with myself knowing that lives could have been spared if only I remembered who I was. I’m an agent of Westeros, Jaime. I want to be with you. More than anything else. I want to wake up beside you. I want to spend days talking to you. I want a life with you. But I won’t be the person you want if we walk away from this. My failure will eat at me and I will hate myself then you. We can’t have that.”

“You’re so sure that you’ll hate me. Do you have so little faith in my abilities to persuade you? If you hate me I will love you harder. If you push me away, I will fight harder to be at your side.”

“No, Jaime. I will spare you that life.”

“What life? It isn't a life without you, I'll have you know.”

“Why don’t you want to go back? Or is it because you can’t face her, you can’t face how you’ll feel when you’re with her? Why? You love her, don’t you?”

Jaime dropped her hands. “Do not talk to me about her. Do not presume to know how I think.”

“But she’s why you don’t want to return, am I right? You love her. I’ve known that from the start. Why won’t you own up to it?”

“Because she’s my sister!”

“But you love her.” When Jaime didn’t answer she nodded, as if to herself. “You will always love her.”

“She betrayed me.”

“You love her.”

“She lied. About our son.”

“We don’t get to choose who we love, Jaime.”

She was looking at her lap as she spoke words he had once told her, in the interrogation room, a long, long time ago. Words he had used to plead with Cersei to run away with him. Words that Jaime told her in that long-ago dream. 

“I’ve never…I’ve never thrown it to your face, your relationship. It hurts me that you love her but you’ve always loved her and I don’t expect anything from you. I never did. Please don’t make this any harder. I don’t believe I’ll have with any man what I had with you but it’s more than enough. I can live with that. I can’t live with failing at my duty.”

“Honor won’t warm your bed,” Jaime snapped, trying to get through her for the last time. 

“But I won’t lose myself.”

“You’ll never lose yourself with me, Blue. You’ll always be you.”

“If we run away, I can’t. . .I can’t leave my father behind, Jaime. I may not have much outside of work but I have him. You can’t ask me to abandon him. I can’t have him deal with another loss—” The rest of her words were unspoken. Her voice had thickened. 

“Maybe I should just take you then. Is that what you want? Kicking and screaming? I once kicked by a horse. The curse of growing up rich and richer. I survived. I'll survive kicks from your giant feet. I'll take you, Brienne. Hells, I will, now, if you want. ”

“You won’t. And I’ll hate you if you do.” Brienne stood up. Jaime rose too.

They stood chest-to-chest, eye to eye. One wore a desperate, pained expression, the other was resolved and resigned. 

“We don’t belong together,” she told him, but feathered her fingers along his jaw. 

Jaime trembled at her tender touch. “I will fix things with Cersei—“

She nodded. He continued to speak, harshly, “And then I’m hunting you down and taking you back to where you belong, Brienne Tarth. _With me._ You belong with me.” 

Brienne put her hand away and began to leave him but Jaime spun her around to face him. Seizing her shoulders, he shook her. Not by much. She was a lot stronger than him. 

“Think whatever you want, Brienne,” he said, his lips a kiss away from her but not moving to end the distance. “I will return to my family. But know that as soon as this shit blows over, I’m having you.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. This--whatever it is you think you feel about me--it's because of her--”

“And you don’t know what you’re saying either. One more reason why we belong together. Go, then,” he said, setting her away from him. “Do what you can to finish this blasted assignment. But if you die, I swear to the old gods and new that I will somehow find a way to bring you back to life and give you the beating you deserve for being so fucking careless and losing your life for a worthless fuck like me.” 

Then he kissed her, all mouth and tongue, rough and brutal and sure to bruise her. Then he pushed her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, we're near the end. :-)


	47. The Company Assembles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t you dream of a time when countries no longer need a black ops division? Because that’s the state of things, Catelyn. Underhanded tactics for one to rise higher and better and stronger. Soldiers sent to a war. It’s still the same. This time we just have better weapons and better means of gathering information but blood is still there. People still die.”
> 
> _________  
> Long chapter ahead. I hope you like it!

Gods, she never thought she’d say it but it was damn good to be back at her chair, behind her desk, at the Golden Company. Catelyn looked around the office through the glass walls that divided her space from everyone else. 

Jon was at her desk, a phone held between his shoulder and chin. Daario, still leaning on his cane, made his way toward his desk. She thought he looked better. Her eyes fell on the empty desks where Robb and Brienne worked.

She and Jon had already sent out word through known and underground channels that the missing agents could return now. Today was the day Melisandre Seaworth had released the article that cleared their names so it was still too soon to hope that Robb and Brienne would resurface. All Catelyn knew about their safety was from Oberyn’s report. His team had tried to catch them but they’d left behind fire in Sin Rostro, bringing the fire department to them and causing significant delay to Oberyn. It had given the rogue agents the necessary time to sneak away.

Howland was back at his desk but only for so long. Melisandre’s reports were sending shockwaves through Westeros, bringing into existence and agency that wasn’t supposed to exit and one that had clearly dropped the ball. Heads will roll and Howland was at the top of President Tyrell’s list. Catelyn didn’t care if hers joined his but she would finish the mission first before she left. Only the Stranger will stop her.

When she trailed in to her kitchen at home this morning, Ned was there. He wasn’t dressed in his uniform but a rumpled t-shirt and pajamas. He was surprised to see her walk past the door and by the time she had taken another step, she was in his arms. For the first time in her adult life, Catelyn let herself cry. She hadn’t thoughto see him again, didn’t think she’d ever make it home. They held each other for a long time before Ned pulled away, kissed her and asked if there was anything she would like to eat. Pancakes, she said, glad that he still held her.

Now, here she was, two hours later, hard at work as if she had never left. Though it was still the same job and the office was the same, there was difference. The Golden Company’s exemption being a black ops was suspended pending further investigation. This meant there were more eyes and ears in the agency. More important, missions were grounded and agents were being pulled out from their covers. They were slow to trickle in but so far, no Robb, no Brienne. Catelyn had protested on this order but Jon warned her this was a possible consequence of clearing their names.  
Catelyn was going through the mission reports when the door to her office opened. Oberyn Martell entered.

He was the fly in the wall but at least, he didn’t look too pleased to be in this place either. He was a handsome man, dark and brooding, with a powerful presence that drew people to him like magnet. Even when he looked constipated standing before her, Oberyn Martell could still send hearts aflutter, men and women alike, Catelyn thought, remembering the mission to the Red Room.

“Do you have a minute?” He asked.

“Do I have a choice?” 

“The President herself ordered my presence here, Catelyn. Don’t make it any harder,” Oberyn said dryly, strolling towards a chair leaning against her desk. “But if you can think of a way to make my stay here more pleasant, do so.”

“This place pretty much runs like the way an office should. And we keep long hours. I doubt if that’s to your liking.”

Oberyn shrugged. “If it helps, I’ve never let my personal life interfere with work.”

“It’s certainly known.”

“What I do outside of work is nobody’s business.”

“It is when you take codes with you,” Catelyn pointed out. “You’ve blamed us for taking them and accessing classified information but I noticed that no one has called you out on having them on your person in the first place. Let alone ensuring it wouldn’t fall in anyone’s hands when you’re wagging it in public. You should be grateful it was Westeros agents that got them, Martell. Else we’ll be dealing with a national security problem.”

“Will this mud-slinging continue?” Oberyn asked pleasantly. “I’m dressed too nicely for one.”

Catelyn stacked her hands on her desk. “State your intention.”

“You have two missing agents and an asset,” Oberyn said, going right to the point. “What’s being done to secure them?”

“We’ve put the word out. If not, that article in Kingsguard Daily would do. Unless you’re suggesting I task agents to look for them?”

“I am.”

“The President ordered all missions be grounded.”

“This isn’t a mission. This is an acquisition. You still have one unaccounted agent—Samwell Tarly. What do you think he’s doing with Viserys Targaryen? Or what else we do not know about Wildfyre? One thing you’re right about is Jaime Lannister. He had to be brought in. But he’s slipped from your grasp.”

“The agents guarding him are trained to disappear. We will only see them when they wish to be found.”

“That won’t do. The longer that Targaryen is out, the more the possibility he will do something to endanger relations between Westeros and Essos.” Suddenly, Oberyn stood up. “Would you like to join me for coffee, Director Stark?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You serve instant coffee here. An abomination that my delicate sensibilities are not equipped to handle. But I don’t believe in having coffee alone. Why don’t you join me so we may get to know each other?” He smiled, white teeth flashing. “You won’t regret it.”

 

Tormund drove to the old and rough neighbourhood of Flea Bottom. Here, community housing was its worst with dilapidated rooftops, fire escapes that looked ready to collapse any minute, and garbage strews all over the street. Brienne had him lock his car before they left to walk, looking around as she spoke. She wrinkled her nose as the stink of garbage and decay hit her.

Hanging out on the sidewalks were teenagers who should be in school, men and women in rags with a faraway look in their eyes. Brienne was grateful that she had slipped on shapeless, baggy clothes and drawn a cap low to her face. As she walked between Tormund and Bronn, eyes began following them. They were a striking group, Tormund with unkempt red hair and long, tangled beard to match, Bronn with his heavily lined face and herself, taller than the two men. 

“Who is this man you’re taking me to?” Brienne whispered as they walked.

“The man for whom this mission rests,” Bronn answered. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to let us do the talking. He knows us. Speak only when you’re spoken to.”

“Any guarantees I won’t lose my head?”

Tormund shrugged but he was grinning. “Only if you don’t do as we tell you.”

“Sounds ominous,” Brienne remarked. “That’s my favorite.”

They went to a building with gouged-out brick walls, more dirt at the front step. Bronn climbed up the steps and pressed the buzzer.

“What?” A gruff but sleepy voice demanded.

“Let us in,” Bronn said. “We also have a friend with us.”

“No cops.”

Bronn and Brienne looked at each other.

“No cops,” Bronn repeated.

A buzzing sound came, unlocking the door. The three entered. Brienne quickly took note of the button Bronn had pressed and followed them.  
The stairs were rickety and squeaked. Brienne hung back a bit, worried that it would collapse when she set foot on it. When it was all clear, she climbed up, her steps light and quick. She was glad their destination was only one flight of stairs. 

“Remember,” Tormund told her, “let us do the talking. Don’t speak unless he speaks to you.”

“I understood perfectly the first time.” Brienne was sarcastic. “Now let’s get this over with.”

Bronn knocked on the door. Brienne heard heavy footsteps and floorboards creaking before the door swung open.

The smell almost threw her against the wall. It was a combination of sweat, old and new, damp dog, and soured, rotting food. Yet the person looking at them clearly did not belong there.

For one thing, he was dressed neatly. His hair was combed flat and to the side. He was large and couldn’t move fast but his clothes were pressed and his cheeks were pink.

Another was he looked no older than a college student.

Brienne spoke before she realized what she was doing. “What in Seven Hells is this? This is a fucking _child!_ How old are you?”

Maybe because her eyes burned bright and fierce, or her face was flushed with shock and anger and looked like she was ready to explode, or maybe it was her size and bulk, six-foot-three of muscle and strength. The boy shrank back in the apartment, the jowls in his fat cheeks shaking. His dark eyes wide, he looked at Bronn and Tormund for help. “N-Nineteen. What—what’s going on?”

Bronn sighed loudly. “This here is Hot Pie. Don’t ask me for his real name. That’s what he calls himself. Hot Pie, let us in before she throttles you or makes a carpet out of you.”

Brienne seized him by the collar, his feet leaving the floor. Tormund protested.

“He’s a good kid. He’s not what you think.”

Bronn, hesitating, put a hand on her shoulder. Brienne flinched, shaking him away.

“Just hear him out, Agent Tarth.”

“Agent Tarth?” Hot Pie echoed. _“Agent Brienne Tarth?”_

“Is there anyone else who shares my name?” Brienne tightened her grip on his collar.

“Please—“ Hot Pie was turning red. “Look, I can help you. Whatever you want.”

Brienne, still holding him, looked at Tormund and Bronn.

“He will,” both men said.

“Alright,” Brienne said, lowering him roughly. Hot Pie staggered but quickly regained his balance. Smiling, he offered her his hand.

“Agent Tarth, I’m a huge fan of your exploits. Call me Hot Pie.”

Brienne looked at his hand pointedly then sniffed, wrinkling her nose. “Forgive me for not shaking your hand, Hot Pie.”

“Oh! Well, no problem. Uh. This is all just cover. Deliberate pigsty. I actually like to keep things neat and orderly. Come in, come in,” he said, gesturing wildly into his apartment.

Gingerly, Brienne went after him. The smell got worse but Hot Pie continued leading her to an apartment that was bigger than she thought. Hot Pie threw open a door and pressed a code there. Another door opened.

“You’ll be more comfortable here, Agent Tarth,” he said, gesturing eagerly and awkwardly. “After you.”

“How do you know about me?” Brienne demanded, refusing to go any further.

Hot Pie blushed and looked at Tormund and Bronn again. 

“Hot Pie here is a model employee at the Black Cells,” Tormund said. “He manages the cafeteria. But on the side he is, uh, well, an information procurement extraordinaire.”

“A hacker,” Brienne growled, her ears turning red. “You’re having me rely on a hacker who has information about me?”

“Only because of Samwell Tarly,” Hot Pie said quickly. “He was a couple of years ahead of me in school. Smart guy. Brilliant. But he’s not to be trusted. I’ve always wondered why the WCA got him. I thought you guys were smarter than that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sam’s, like, well, his family, they’re like, tight with the Targaryens. Not a lot of people know this but his family’s rich, like one of those old, quiet rich folk who are hardly in the news but have a lot more money than, say, Lannisters. The connection between the Tarlys and the Targaryens go a long, long way back. Probably as far back as Aegon’s Conquest.”

“So what if his family’s friends with the Targaryens?”

“They’re not just friends. He has an aunt married to a Targaryen. It was going to be his mother but the engagement didn’t push through. But the families are good and tight with each other. That should have been a red flag when the WCA hired him. Aren’t you guys keeping tabs on Viserys?”

“Why would you know that?”

“Not through hacking, let me assure you. But Viserys has always been a dangerous guy. Too much money. Too much dragon blood. Not enough up there. I’ve been monitoring Sam and Viserys for a while—“

“Define a while.”

“Three years.”

If Brienne was shocked that Sam had betrayed the agency longer than she thought, she didn’t show it. But the truth was a knife twisting in her gut. Her scar twitched. How she wished. . .no, Robb had to be the one with her. 

“And in the last two weeks, he’s been downloading a helluva lot of information from WCA servers. Hells, he even got his hands on President Tyrell’s DNA.” 

_DNA. Wildfyre was designed to kill someone based on DNA. Without a trace._ This time, there was no stopping the horror that crossed Brienne’s face. 

“Bronn, I want Robb here. Now. Make sure that Jaqen doesn’t let Jaime out of his sight. Chain him up if you have to. You stay with me Tormund.” The orders flew swiftly from Brienne’s lips and prompted fast action. She turned to Hot Pie.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Sam Tarly and Viserys Targaryen,” she told him. 

Hot Pie nodded, his eyes bright. “Everything you need to know, I have it. And yours, Agent Tarth.”

“Call me Brienne. Bandy my name about like that and I’ll lose my head.”

“Of course, of course. Sorry. Uh, Brienne it is, then. Come here, Brienne. You won’t believe what I’ve found out.” 

“Do not disappoint me.”

 

Oberyn took her to an outdoor coffee shop at the corner of the street. The sun was high and warm but Catelyn still liked it. There was little choice with company, though, but there was nothing she could do. She smirked inwardly when she ordered plain black coffee, Oberyn frowning at her. It turned out that his order was one of those pretentious blends with certain percentages of beverage, half-and-half of a lot of something and a splash. By the time he was finished ordering and chatting up their red-haired waitress, a woman whose nameplate said she was Ygritte, Catelyn was itching to return to her desk.

“On with it, Martell,” Catelyn demanded. “What exactly do you want to talk about here that can’t be said in there?”

“What makes you think I have something like that to say?” Oberyn commented but she quirked an eyebrow at him. “Alright. I’ve been observing Targaryen Industries. To my knowledge, the Wildfyre is still within the premises. Tonight there’s going to be a fundraiser. A masque ball.”

“And?”

“Here’s the guest list,” Oberyn pulled out his cellphone and handed it to her.

Catelyn scrolled down. Her breath quickened with every name she recognized. She was still looking at it when Ygritte served their coffees with a smile. Oberyn smiled back at her before she left. When she was gone, he looked back at Catelyn, whose eyes lifted to him.

“Can you verify this?”

“I hacked right into their servers. That’s from Viserys’ email.”

She handed the phone back to him without a word.

“If Samwell Tarly is as good as he think he is, he may have already unlocked the vault holding the Wildfyre without needing Jaime Lannister. Maybe Viserys has Jaime’s DNA. Who knows. But if this sale is happening tonight, believe me, Wildfyre is going to be out there.”

“You told Howland this?”

“No. Only you.”’

“Shifting alliances, Martell?”

He frowned at her. “Doing what’s right.”

“What if you’re only doing this to give Howland proof that the Golden Company is out of control?”  
“I’ve never liked the man’s methods but his intentions are solid. He just fucks up with the execution. But if he goes, I’m out too. I don’t want to be.”

“Ah. There it is. You’re jumping ship to save your ass.”

Catelyn took a delicate sip of her coffee then lowered it.

“You have a tech. Jon Snow. But we both know that’s not his job and he’s just filling in. I’m a hells lot better than that Tarly. Not to mention that I wouldn’t betray Westeros. All I’ve done is protect it. Why won’t you want me on your team? Is it because I made out with your son?”

“It doesn’t take much thinking to know that you don’t like being outwitted, Martell. That’s what happened to you with my agents.”

“I let my guard down. I won’t be judged for choices I make outside of work.”

“It’s hardly a secret. That makes you a target.”

“No one will get those codes again. Besides, I’ve changed them.”

“And this. . .information you have. What exactly do you want me to do with it? Tyrell’s benched us. No operation until the investigation is over.”  
“Who says she has to know?”

“We won’t be going against the director of the WCA. This is the President we’re talking about.”

“Again, does she have to know?”

“The people we need for the assignment are not here. The three of us can’t do it on our own.”

“I’ve found your agents, Cat. Or rather, one of them.” Martell punched something in his phone and showed it to her again. Catelyn watched the grainy video footage of Brienne with a cap dragged low to her face as she walked on Flea Bottom. She was flanked by Tormund Giantsbane and Bronn.She looked at Oberyn.

“When was this?”

“An hour ago. She and your son are partners. If I’m not mistaken, wherever she is, that’s where he is too. And Jaime Lannister.” 

Catelyn still looked unconvinced. Oberyn pressed her a little more. 

“It happens tonight. If we don’t do anything, it will be out of our hands. Out of Westeros. We will not have an opportunity to take him down and the entire group again.”

“You are telling me to defy direct orders from the President—“

“I am urging you to see sense.”

“I will not endanger my team. Nor risk the existence of the Golden Company. It is needed.”

“Don’t you dream of a time when countries no longer need a black ops division? Because that’s the state of things, Catelyn. Underhanded tactics for one to rise higher and better and stronger. Soldiers sent to a war. It’s still the same. This time we just have better weapons and better means of gathering information but blood is still there. People still die.”

“That’s what every agent signed up for.”

“Don’t you want a Westeros that you protect rather one that needs saving?”

 

Through his goggles, Jaime looked at the pile of objects he had finished making in the last two hours. Conceptualizing these weapons and making them enabled him to go away inside. It worked, often enough. When he wanted to banish the loneliness of a mother gone too soon and suddenly, or when he wished to forget his failure to his brother. Sometimes, when Cersei played him too hard and relished his torture as she whispered into the ears of other men while giving him a sly smile from across the room, he managed, just about, to control himself by thinking of new ways to weaponize Wildfyre.  
It wasn’t Wildfyre he was making now. This was nuts-and-bolts weapons-making. Back to basics. Bronn and Tormund brought the supplies and it appeared they had checked and ticked off every item in the list. So far, Jaime had made thumb-sized Tasers capable of knocking a man at two hundred pounds and up off his feet. He had adjusted some features of a couple of watches too, adding how a turn of the knob could send off a thin yet sure beam of laser, and also how it could double as a radio. There were also accessories such as what appeared to be a man’s college ring but contained Essence of Nightshade to knock out an enemy. He left the tranq guns alone. 

He was working on a belt, thinking that it may be best for a weapon to be worn out in the open else the agent would end up loaded with too many weapons and unable to move when a phone call came for Robb. He didn’t pay much attention to the exchange between Robb and Jaqen but he did notice Bronn arriving to get him. 

Another two hours passed before Jaqen spoke up. 

“She’s safe. She asked that he come.”

Jaime nodded and continued working. His hands moved around and reached for tiny pieces that were sized of a eye pupil yet he didn’t really believe Jaqen’s words. If Brienne needed Robb’s help, then something was up.

“Don’t think about her now,” Jaqen told him and Jaime looked at him, aghast.

“Get back to work,” he told the other man gruffly.

“You should take your own advice. That’s not where that goes.” 

“Usually when I work, it’s just me and the alternative rock station,” Jaime said. “I would really appreciate silence.”

“You turn to work when there are things you’d rather not think about,” Jaqen persisted, making Jaime roll his eyes impatiently. “Don’t you have friends you can talk to?”

“I was kidnapped. Whatever friends I have think I’m dead.” 

“You’ve done good.” Jaqen nodded at the assembly line of tools and instruments Jaime had been making for the last couple of days. He sat on the stool next to him. “Give yourself a break, kid. Talk to me. We both know you’re thinking of that agent with the pretty blue eyes.”

“Her eyes,” Jaime said shortly, ripping off his goggles and tossing them on the table before glaring at him, “are not pretty.”

“Sapphires,” Jaqen said softly.

Em

Jaime sighed loudly and continued working. “Don’t you have a bomb or explosives to make?”

“She’s a good woman, that one.”

“Her name,” Jaime warned him, his green eyes slitting menacingly, “is _Brienne_. Agent Tarth to you.”

“I meant no disrespect. But I believe you need to hear my advice.”

“Strange. I don’t recall asking for one.”

“We will never be first to women like her,” Jaqen told him, leaning against the counter. “They meant to protect us. How slaying one enemy is one less that will hurt those they love. But you’ll forget all that when you’ve spent too many nights alone in bed, until you can’t remember the last time she’s been in your arms.” 

His words were true, Jaime knew. But it wasn’t only women like Brienne where that applied. He was never first with Cersei, no matter how much she claimed to loved him. Now he knew that every time she said those words it was to bind him to her and blind him to her true face, her real intentions. Brienne had told him often enough—the mission, the mission. The mission came first, the mission had to be finished first. He couldn’t hate the blonde giant. She had given him the truth rather than manipulate him.

Still, Jaime wondered if there will ever come a time when he would be first in her thoughts. That rather than go off and fire at the enemy her first action is to run to him and be with him, spend the last hours with him. If they died, they were together.

“Ned Stark isn’t like most men,” Jaqen continued. “But I do wonder how long he and Cat can live like this.”

“Different strokes for different folks.”

“I’m just saying, if Agent Tarth is the one you want, you’ll have to be ready to accept that you’re way down her list of priorities.”

“There is nothing going on between me and Brienne,” Jaime said firmly, twirling a screw in place. “We had our fun. It’s over.”

Over. Right, he thought. Who were they kidding? He wanted her more. Last night he meant it when he said he only came to her bed to hold her. She had offered him her breasts, her body, and his resolve almost shattered but he remembered how painful it was to pull away from each other that last time in the boat. The wound was still raw and will be for a while. Then she said those words to him this morning, thinking him asleep. He should have ceased pretence and fucked her instead. Maybe this time she’d end up pregnant have no choice but to let him take her away.

For a moment, Jaime gave in to the fantasy. Brienne full and round with his child. Her face redder than ever, her eyes the brightest, most brilliant blue. Her hard body would soften, milk would make her breasts heavy and round. She would overflow his arms but he will still hold all of her, easily, and never let go. When she gave birth he was at her side, kissing her sweating forehead, letting her big hand crush his fingers. Their child would have her sapphire eyes and her courage. All their children would be just like her. 

He quickly obliterated that wistful thought with rational thought. 

If that happened, then Brienne would only be with him because she had to be, only because he forced her. No. If she wanted him, it would be because she chose him. To do that, she had to make sure she lived through this mission. Jaime wanted to punch walls every time she refused to make the vow to not die for him, repeating over and over that she was ready for death, that she was ready to forfeit her life for his. Romantic, as some idiots would say. Foolishness and pure idiocy, in Jaime’s book. 

“I do know where I fall in her list,” Jaime said, his voice quiet. “I may not be first but she will die for me. She insists and I have a feeling if I stop her, she will bash my head to the ground. You can’t say that for everyone. There’s no one like her. Only her."

“And still there’s nothing going on between you?”

“It was adrenaline, Stockholm Syndrom, take your pick.” _Liar._ “It’s time to move on.”

They were still speaking when the loud squeal of tires from outside the warehouse reached them. Jaqen quickly shoved a protesting Jaime under the counter while he pulled out his gun. Too quickly, the doors started to climb up. Jaqen started to aim his gun at the cars parked outside but saw a pair of long legs exiting from the passenger side of one. He froze. 

“Where’s Jaime?” It was Brienne. She sounded breathless.

Jaime got out of his hiding place. “That wasn’t my choice—“

She didn’t let him finish. Instead, she ran to him and threw her arms around him. Jaime breathed in her scent, burying his nose in her neck, rubbing it against the thick, muscular column covered in the softest skin. “Jaime,” she whispered in his ear. He licked and sucked at her skin. He traced the hard line of the side of her neck with his lips, holding her tighter as she shivered against him. Now that he was this close, she smelled funky. Jaime sucked her again. He didn't care. This was _Brienne._

“What’s going on?”

She pulled away and Jaime lost his breath at her sparkling blue eyes. They shone with a confidence he had not seen before. Her hair stuck out in all directions. There was a red bloom on her cheeks that made her look younger, even carefree. She was irresitible. Jaime rubbed his lips against her lazily, grazing her bottom lip with his teeth. She went from warm and solid to warmer and a bit more soft. She murmured his name between kisses. It seemed there was a direct line from her husky whisper to his cock as it hardened and began to thrust against her through his pants. She made a sound between a gasp and a laugh, maybe. Jaime was grinning at her as she pulled her head back. Now, her lips were red and wet. With her messy hair and apple-red face, she almost looked as if recently come. _From fucking me,_ Jaime thought, still rubbing against her, his smile widening as her blush deepened and she dropped her eyes, her thin, blond eyelashes fluttering. She put her hands on his shoulders and turned away. He hated that but but at least she remained in his arms. He followed her gaze and swallowed. 

After Bronn and Tormund entered, there came Robb and behind him, Catelyn Stark and Daario Naharis and some other dark-haired guy Jaime didn’t recognize. But he was looking at Jaime assessingly. Jaime frowned and turned back to Brienne, who was looking at him.

“The cavalry is here, Jaime,” she told him, cupping his face in her hands. She kissed him fully on the mouth and he was quick to respond. He groaned when she ended it too soon but there were her eyes again, shining and lovely.

“You’re going home.”

Then she was kissing him again. Jaime wished he shared her enthusiasm at the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally my invention that the Tarlys and Targaryens are friends. Because in this world, I thought, why not? The same with Oberyn Martell disillusioned with Howland Reed's tactics. Daario's come back in the last few chapters. You're going to love what I do to him in the following chapters. 
> 
> In case you're wondering, Hot Pie is their mysterious guy on the inside in the Black Cells. 
> 
> I can't wait for this mission to commence. Seriously. I'm the one writing this story but I'm probably a lot more excited than you are. Thank you for reading. I love, love reading your comments.


	48. Unburdening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wish I’m sorry for all I’ve done as an agent but to do that would mean having regrets as a mother too. Because there is no line that divides where the agent ends and the mother begins. But I do wish I’ve spared you this life, Robb. All I’ve done is to make sure my family has a normal, safe life.”

Robb and Brienne’s clear status with the WCA and the Golden Company were restored upon Catelyn’s orders this morning. Nevertheless, equipment pertaining to the mission were delivered to the warehouse being that not only were most of the agents needed were already there but they also couldn’t risk the location of their headquarters known. 

Tables and chairs were set up in what would become the conference room. Here, a giant screen soon rose and laptops were provided for the agents concerned. People went stir-crazy not having internet, Brienne thought as she sat down next to Jon, but they did not come to close to how she close she had gone over the edge with no agency or tech support of any kind for this ongoing mission until now.

Catelyn took her position at the head of the table. Surprising everyone, Oberyn sat down next to her. Jon had briefed Robb and Brienne that while the agency was under investigation and thus grounded upon the President’s orders, Oberyn Martell was sent to oversee and keep watch over the Golden Company. Yet the intelligence crucial to tonight’s mission was due to his efforts. If only he would stop glaring at her and Robb. Brienne understood vendettas but for Oberyn, what he felt towards them was clearly beyond that. 

In that, she was grateful for Jaime, who had sat down beside her, snatching the seat smoothly from Robb. She took notice of him. Since their passionate kiss—one that she hadn’t meant to happen at all but emotions got the better of her—he had been. . .taciturn. Now that was a word she never thought to describe him. Since meeting Jaime Lannister she thought he had shown her the full spectrum of his personality but his sudden quiet on him concerned her. It shouldn’t. He was an asset and she was an agent, for one. And their time together was at end. 

He had a son out there. The gods only knew what he planned to do about that.

He also loved another woman. It didn’t matter that he believed they belonged together or that he would hunt her down as soon as the mission was over. He was sore from her betrayal. He was downtrodden from what had happened in less than two weeks. It was inevitable to do something completely out of character and being with Brienne, saying those things to her, doing those things to her, fit right in that box. 

It was completely absurd—even Brienne could see it. Why would he even look at her? So what if she was his sister and it was completely wrong on levels yet to be scaled? Look at her—tall, lumbering, built like a man with a face with random features thrown together without thought, it wasn’t clear if punishment was the intention behind it or a cruel, cruel jest by the gods. Not to mention a fucked-up background. Fucked her handler, who vanished without a trace. Daughter of a known terrorist. And now, she was fuck buddies with an asset. If she wasn’t going to be benched, she’d be kicked out of the Golden Company faster than she could blink. 

Jaqen, due to his former status and because of his assistance, was brought in and allowed to sit with them. He sat next to Oberyn, facing Jaime. Then Bronn and Tormund joined them, taking the last two seats. Hot Pie was out of the picture. He was a kid and a hacker who knew too much. For now, Brienne would keep silent about him but his days were counted. It was only a matter of time before he was found out. 

Catelyn was speaking. Brienne listened until she felt ice daggers coming her way. Sure enough, there was Oberyn, looking at her as if he was itching to experiment the many ways he could make a human being suffer until he found the right combination. 

She jumped as Jaime’s hand suddenly settled on her thigh.

And squeezed.

“What’s up with that guy?” He muttered under his breath, his emerald eyes dark as he stared at Oberyn Martell. He looked at Brienne questioningly.   
Brienne lowered her head. A crimson flush was slowly making its way up her neck as Jaime massaged her thigh under the table. A shaky breath drifted from her lips. 

She thought she heard him groan. “It’s a long story.”

He seemed to debate himself before asking, “Did you fuck him?”

She scowled.

“He wants to fuck you?” Jaime spoke with a growl.

Her scowl deepened. She wanted to punch off the grin on his face as he whispered, “I’m not surprised.”

“Hush.”

“Did you date? Kissed?”

_“Listen.”_ She glanced at Catelyn, worried they would be reprimanded for talking.

“You’ve kissed,” Jaime deduced. He sounded too happy. It was not to be trusted. Then, dropping his voice to an even lower register, he said, “He’s seen how you look like after being thoroughly kissed. That’s why. He wants to see you undone when he has your mouth between your legs. That’s not going to happen. He’ll be dead if he tries that.” He nodded slightly toward Oberyn. “He can kill a man with his bare hands but he hasn’t faced the likes of me yet.” 

His voice and the things he spoke of were putting images in her head. Images that were making sweat spread down her back. Catelyn’s voice seemed so far away. She glared at him then, her blue eyes lightning streaks. “Jaime. Please. This is important.”

“Right, Blue?” He continued, ignoring her. “He won’t know how you look like after riding between your legs the whole night. Only me.”

As he spoke, his hand climbed higher to her thigh. Now there was a dilemma. If she shut her legs, he would definitely do something. If she didn’t, he would still do something. The outcome was a red face and embarrassment. Brienne reached for his hand, to remove it and put it back on his person, but Jaime clasped her hand tightly, twining his fingers with her. The sudden tender turn of his caress drew a sharp hiss from her. 

“Right, Brienne?” This time he was pleading with her.

She couldn’t look at him though. Something told her she wouldn’t survive if she stared right into the gleaming, emerald eyes of the lion holding her hand as if she were something precious and sweet and loved. Someone he loved. Don’t go there. She gave him a nod, to placate him, to forget ridiculousness. 

He held her hand in both of his. 

“---Brienne?” Catelyn was speaking to her.

Feeling her face go through the full spectrum of red in nanoseconds, she said, “If you would be so kind to repeat?”

Catelyn gave her a strange look. She frowned at Jaime.“I asked, for the benefit of our new associates, for you to state your call sign in the field.”  
“Oathkeeper.” Jaime squeezed her hand.

Other voices drifted far away as another, more urgent, reminded her of what must be done. _Remember your vow._

 

After the briefing, Catelyn went to Robb. The mother in her wanted to hug him tight and thank the gods for keeping him safe and alive. But she was a director of a black ops division. And they weren’t alone.

She noted his hair shaved close to his scalp. “That Brienne’s idea?”

“With our faces all over and no other means of hiding, I had to,” Robb explained. He smiled at her. “It’s good to see you well, Mom.”

Catelyn allowed herself a smile, a mirror of his. “You too, Robb.”

He looked around them. Everyone had gone back to their business before the meeting, going over the details again and murmuring to themselves and each other. Jon had formed a small circle with Brienne, Jaqen, Jaime, Bronn and Tormund. Daario was frowning, unsure whether he was included or not. Oberyn was by himself as he settled in what was going to be his personal corner of the warehouse, punching keys rapidly onto his laptop.

“How’s Dad?” Robb wouldn’t let himself think of his family beginning at the moment they escaped Sin Rostro. He still hadn’t thought to call on Ned when his name was cleared things could still change just as easily. 

“He worries but he’s strong. Will you walk with me?” At Robb’s curious expression, she said, “there’s hardly a place here for a private conversation. I have a feeling there are things I need to know.” At that, her eyes settled on Jaime and Brienne. They weren’t touching each other but stood closer than the rest in their circle. 

“You’re going to have to ask her. Not me.”

“Loyal to your partner, are you?” She didn’t know whether to approve or be displeased. As she spoke, Jaqen glanced their way. She met his eyes and turned back to Robb.

“If it helps, I’ve already spoken with her about it. But she’s a grown woman with her own mind. She went into this with eyes wide open and her head clear. You know how she is.” Robb followed her gaze and quirked a smile. “She’s tenacious. I doubt if threatening her with administrative intervention would have stopped her. She’s quite like you, Mom.”

“It’s still not right. Jaime Lannister is an asset.”

“And is on our side. I don’t like the guy either but he’s with us. We need everyone we can have for this mission.” Suddenly, Robb added, “You never missed any of our birthdays.”

Thrown at the sudden shift of their conversation, Catelyn was a little confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Sometimes it was days before you were home but you always made it on time for our birthdays.”

“I’ve put bullets in the heads of all who tried to get between me and my children. And will continue to do so until my last breath.” Then she put a hand on his cheek, allowing herself this contact. “I wish I’m sorry for all I’ve done as an agent but to do that would mean having regrets as a mother too. Because there is no line that divides where the agent ends and the mother begins. But I do wish I’ve spared you this life, Robb. All I’ve done is to make sure my family has a normal, safe life.”

She dropped her hand. Robb said, “That’s what I want too.”

 

After a while, Brienne managed to extricate herself from the others. It was hours before the mission but everything they were doing was toward that, to the very last minute. She needed some space, she needed to think. Wistfully, she thought of the indoor firing range back at the Golden Company. She hadn’t fired a gun in weeks. 

Or if she could at least spar. All the workout she had been getting lately was running away and fucking. Both messed with her as they kept her buzzed and on edge for hours. Despite having her name cleared, she knew that things could still turn against her. Jon was right—compromising their covers was an expected consequence what he did. And at least, guns weren’t trained on them anymore. They were free. So to speak.  
She had a weapons case open on a table, testing the heft and weight of the knives there when she saw Daario approaching. They hadn’t spoken yet. If he was going to remind her of his vow to clear his name, he was going to wait for a long time. She had this mission to think about. And her father. Gods, her father. Father give him strength, keep him safe. Besides, they now knew he wasn’t behind Sam’s kidnapping and that had to be enough for him.

She flipped open a Shrade SCHA4BG when Daario was close enough. “Anything you want from me, Naharis?”

“Nah. Just wanted a friendly face.” He laughed when she scowled at him and returned her attention to testing the knife in her hand. 

“I heard you got stabbed,” he said. “That Harpy must be a lot faster than you to land that.”

Her wound began to twitch and she put the knife back in the case. “You were a Harpy. How did you end up working for the WCA?”

“I was young. You’re still young. The world has a way of messing with our heads. Idealism. Dreams. Right and wrong. Wrong from right. Then one day you get the rudest wake-up call and reaize you’re wrong. But unlike those who just wallowed, I set out to make things right. That group must be brought to its knees.” His eyes darkened as he spoke. “But being out is worse. They pinned the Maidenvault bombings on me.”

“Do you—do you know of this woman? Wenda, is her name.”

“She was already at the upper echelon when I was recruited. Ruthless. She the one that stabbed you?”

If only that were the only thing she did, Brienne thought. “What else do you know about her?”

“She’s a Harpy agent. They have their own network of spies. What’s scary is there’s little we know about them. They’re masters at blending in. When I joined, Wenda had recently returned from a long deep cover mission in Westeros. The details are scant. They’re not forthcoming with information over there either.”

They must have put another body in her place for that car accident. It was sickening. Brienne hoped it was truly a dead body and not one they murdered. She wouldn’t put it past them, however. 

“Did you manage to wound her?”

“Like you said, she’s faster,” Brienne admitted, taking out another knife. 

Daario looked at it. “Care to spar?” 

“If you want.”

“Of course I do. I’ll even let you pick the knife.”

“There’s no need to indulge me. You pick the knife.”

 

An hour into Daario and Brienne’s sparring, Jaime finally managed to remain where he was. 

They had set up a small section in the warehouse for their sparring. Armed only with six-inch knives, Daario and Brienne went at it, lunging, parrying, diving, sliding, turning. Both were strong, tricky fighters. Each did a lot of feinting and bluffing. Each had their own dirty way of fighting.   
Watching Brienne fight was like seeing poetry in motion. She was graceful and smooth, turning this way and that, avoiding a blow, delivering one. Sweat gleamed on her face and dripped down her cheeks, down her broad jaw, and this was probably the reddest Jaime had seen her. But her eyes were brighter than ever, shining with a confidence he had not seen before. And fuck it but he was both massively impressed and aroused.

Stripped to a thin, white t-shirt, it clung to her sweating body and outlined the bra she was wearing. That gave him relief and disappointment. While he didn’t like another man seeing her tight nipples, he would also give anything to have them pressing against her t-shirt, tempting him. His mouth watered at the image of ripping it off Brienne and sucking at the salty sweat from her nipples. As she wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, he also entertained the thought of licking the sweat off her forehead, her throat, behind her ears. 

Brienne’s legs were in a wide, firm stance. The bunched muscles of her thighs strained under the pants. Jaime wondered how her cunt smelled fresh from a fight, how she would taste. He meant it when he told she got sweeter each time. 

Right now, Brienne seemed to fly toward Daario. She was fast as an eagle soaring toward its prey, looking light and moving like the wind despite her size and bulk. The latter she did not hesitate using against the shorter, slimmer man. Daario was fast and more light-footed than her. When she came at him, red-faced and huffing, he turned and kicked her on her backside.

“Fuck!” Brienne shouted as she sprawled on the floor with a loud thump. Jaime did not move to help her now. But Brienne was quick to recover. She turned and sliced her long legs in the air, cutting towards Daario who was looming over her savouring his victory. Her right foot, encased in a thick-soled boot, hit him right on the groin, heel-first. Daario crashed down with a wail. Brienne leaped back to her feet, grinning. 

“Kick his ass!” Jaime called out to her. He grinned when she shot him a smile before looking back at Daario.

“Seven bloody hells,” Daario swore. He was in a fetal curl clutching himself. Pain twisted his face. “You had to kick me there?”

“The opportunity presented itself. Never savor a kill,” Brienne told him. She was still poised in a defensive position, holding the knife.. “On your feet, Naharis. You’re not going to let a big blond bitch best you, are you?”

“Never going to forgive me of that, are you?” He panted. 

Brienne shot back with something rude and called his manhood into question. Jaime laughed. When Daario shot to his feet, Brienne swung at him and sent him back to the ground again. The slash on his cheek was wet crimson.

“Damn it to hells, Tarth!”

“Stop being a fucking pathetic child and fight!”

Daario yelled something very rude, it was probably the rudest thing Jaime had ever heard. Just as he was coming toward them, a small hand stopped him by pressing against his chest. Startled, he looked down and saw Catelyn Stark.

“She can take care of herself,” she said, glancing at the sparring duo. “She’s been taking care herself longer than you know her.”

“You let him talk to her that way?” He demanded as Daari slashed toward Brienne, who leaped back. 

“I have a feeling she’s used to men talking to her that way.”

Jaime felt himself warm at Catelyn’s implication. He had said worse during their earlier encounters. Talked about how her cunt won’t be soft. That he would fuck her only in the dark. He had fucked her in sunlight and moonlight. 

Brienne made an _oof_ sound as Daario shoved her away. Staggering, she lost her grip on the knife. Daario grinned.

So she threw herself at him.

It was like watching two alphas battle for dominance. To the death.

Unperturbed, Catelyn continued, “I don’t know what she sees in you. But it’s not going to last, Lannister. She’s an agent. You’re an asset. Not to mention that you’ve done things that make you unworthy of her.” She nodded as Daario punched Brienne in the jaw. Brienne growled and headbutted him. “You would sully her. She’s the best woman I know.”

“Don’t you think I know what? To wish that I don’t want her?”

“But you only want her. Take it as far as it will go if you must, if she will let you. But when it ends, it ends.”

Clinging to threads, Jaime asked, “And if she doesn’t want it to end?”

Brienne ground her heel on Daario’s throat. “Yield, motherfucker!”

Catelyn’s eyes were cool but there was sympathy in them too. Jaime hated being on the receiving end of it. “You don’t know her at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things happened in this chapter, didn't it? Thank you for reading! I'm sorry if I've been slow with updating lately.


	49. Who Holds the Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looked at the object in her hands. Small yet carrying memories in gigabytes. A life.

To be home at Casterly Rock, even for just a few hours, brought memories, many sad, very few interspersed with happiness. Cersei sat at the foot of her bed in her old bedroom, thinking how many times this had been redecorated or done over yet there was no forgetting the night Uncle Kevan knocked at her door, Jaime at his side. As the Lannister twins stood in front of him confused and rubbing their eyes, he knelt and told them the bad news: Joanna was gone.

Cersei remembered tearing at whatever she could get her hands on. Throwing things. Smashing things. Ripping things. Her rage knew no bounds and she barely heard Uncle Kevan telling her to stop, she was going to hurt herself. She was a cub suddenly alone, her mother stolen from her. Her wail of grief echoed throughout the halls of Casterly Rock as she finally collapsed in her uncle’s arms.

Jaime continued to stand by the door, pale, wide-eyed, as if he wasn’t there. He had been silent during her carnage. It was her cries that roused him, snapped him awake. Their eyes met, both green, hers red and in tears, his slowly catching up to her. Then he turned away and ran.

“Jaime! Don’t leave me!” she screamed, pushing and kicking at her uncle. When she made it to the door, Jaime was long gone. She turned her rage at Uncle Kevan, who told her to calm down, he will get Jaime. He will return Jaime to her  
.  
She fell asleep on the floor, waiting. 

The days that followed were a blur. She no longer cried but kept to herself. It was Jaime who brought her meals, Jaime who sat beside her and combed the tangles from her long, golden blond hair. When her twin was with her, the stormy sea inside calmed to an almost-stillness. Soon, she realized that only when he was with her did she regain some peace. Life was never going to be the same but with Jaime at her side, she was going to live. She resolved to find a way to make sure he never left her. 

This was a different bed. The bed where they first kissed was replaced a couple of years later, when it got too small. The next bed was where she gave herself to Jaime. She had been as scared as he was but she was the strong one. The pain was nothing if it kept whom you loved at your side. And Jaime was the only one she wanted, all she wanted at her side. Never anyone else.

Not even the children they could have had.

Any child would mean less of Jaime’s attention and love for her. She terminated both pregnancies without another thought. But the third one, for some reason, she decided to keep. Jaime had gotten through to her by then. She thought of running away with him. Living far away from King’s Landing and elsewhere—elsewhere they could love and be together.

Then that little monster ruined everything.

Casterly Rock was huge but staffed with servants that did not speak unless spoken to. It seemed a mausoleum, dark, forbidding and grim. The suite where Joanna and Tywin slept had been sealed off for years and years—Tywin only returned there the few days after her death to get his things and instructed it to be locked away. 

Another room was also held by lock and key. The room of the monster that killed her mother.

He was a monster. Deformed. With hardly any Lannister in him at all with his pale hair and mismatched eyes. When he smiled he looked like the Stranger. When he looked at her, Cersei felt both fear and anger. Even Twyin couldn’t stand the sight of him. Jaime, strangely, saw him as something else. As something human. 

Jaime and Tyrion were close. Cersei hated that. She refused to participate in anything that involved the monster. She couldn’t believe it took her years to realize that it wasn’t a child that will get between her and Jaime. It was that thing, that monstrous thing that killed her beautiful, gentle mother. He had to be eliminated. For good.

It only took a few words, the barest of hints dropped in Tywin’s ears. It also took only a few bills to line the necessary pockets and do what had to be done. All she had to do was plant the drugs in Tyrion’s rooms and coax Tywin to go there. It was so seamless, so beautiful, she couldn’t resist bragging to Jaime that she’d done it. She had cut off the last thing that lay between them. Tyrion was gone with his share of the Lannister fortune, and never coming back.

Jaime hadn’t liked it. Not one bit. He refused to speak with her.

Then she discovered she was pregnant.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been careful. A servant cleaning her bathroom at the penthouse reported to Tywin her pregnancy sticks. Her staff were hired and paid by her father. The next thing Cersei knew, Tywin had gone to her with the wrath of a lion. He ignored her protests, looked at her as if she were scum when she offered to abort the baby. He packed her off to Harrenhal, that derelict, gray wasteland. His instructions were firm. She was going to give birth to the baby and forget about it. Guards and servants loyal to Tywin kept watch over her. Communication with Jaime ceased. This was the time he renounced all ties to the Lannister empire and fortune to work for Viserys Targaryen.

When she returned to King’s Landing, Jaime was the first person she called. “You have a son,” were her first words to him. He started speaking with her again. It was true, he had a son. But she didn’t tell him she didn’t have it. Yet she dangled the promise of a meeting with him, someday. When he asked if Tywin knew, she said that she had been gone for almost a year and made up a story about adopting the child. It was a crazy plan but it worked. Jaime was hers again. He still couldn’t touch her, he still couldn’t forgive her, but yes, he still wanted her. Loved her.  
She got up from the bed and walked the long hallway to Tywin’s bedroom, smaller than the suite he used to occupy. She knocked on his door and opened it upon being commanded by his voice she could.

He was attaching cuff links to his shirt. He glanced at her as she entered, nodding. Cersei grimaced inwardly. She knew she looked beautiful with her golden hair swept back in an elegant chignon. The style bared her slim shoulders. The gown she wore was the color of blood and rippled around her curves. But again, Tywin ignored her beauty, ignored her. 

“Do you think this is wise?” She asked him. “To consort with the man who stole your son from you? Who remains missing?”

“President Tyrell vowed to do everything in her power to return Jaime,” Twyin said attaching the other cufflink. “And it is prudent that we establish relationships with whoever the family of your future husband associates with.”

”I am never marrying Loras Tyrell.”

Tywin looked at her, his eyes cold. “You know what will happen.”

“You don’t.”

“Oh? Care to enlighten me?”

“I will tell them.” Cersei said softly.

“Tell them what?”

“Father, you have spies everywhere but they’ve never been able to put two and two together. What do you think will happen to your precious empire, your precious name, when word gets out of what your children have been doing?” Cersei strode forward, slowly, a lioness assessing her next kill. “Imagine that. The Lannister twins. Fucking.”

Tywin hissed and angrily put on his jacket. “You will cease that disgusting talk.”

“Jaime and I have done things. We have only each other. Love each other. And we have a son, don’t you remember?”

“A son you’ve never seen and don’t know where. Can you really do this? Destroy the family for what? For this. . .abomination you share? Because, daughter, before you can destroy the Lannister name, I will destroy you.” Tywin did not move from his spot. 

“You wouldn’t. You don’t know what will happen if you do.”

“You are ambitious but you never think ahead. But if you speak of it, trust me, it all ends. You will be dismissed as a woman gone insane because she was unable to handle the stress of a high-pressure job. I have the power to make it look like that, Cersei. No one would wish to be around you after that.”

“Jaime will do as I tell him. If I tell him that today we tell the world, he will be at my side.”

“He isn’t.”

“No thanks to you. I don’t want a husband.”

“Then you don’t get to live the life you’re accustomed to.”

“I will tell the world what you did with Tyrion.”

“Shipped him off and disowned him because he was an addict? All the more the world will fear me.” Tywin said coolly. “You will cease this game, daughter. You don’t know the rules yet you believe yourself its master. You will always lose. And if you speak one word about what you and Jaime do, you will be thrown out in the street with nothing, not even the Lannister name.”

 

Brienne could hardly remember putting on a dress when it wasn’t for a mission. Her last test at the Vale, involving Renly, was a mission of sorts to. She didn’t go to her prom, never went to a ball. When she and Renly were together, they preferred to stay home and the few times they ventured out, it was to watch a movie. That didn’t require a dress at all. 

Dresses for a mission were easier to slip on, rather than when she had to wear a dress for herself. She quite liked tonight’s dress, a black, fitted number with a long, column skirt and a slit. Thank the gods it wasn’t blue, but it wasn’t Robb who had picked her dress this time. The man had taste but he liked seeing her in blue too much and she was getting tired of it. Plus, it was a brilliant color. A spy wasn’t supposed to stand out.  
She smoothed a hand down the dress hanging before her. Then she began to put on underwear.

She was pulling up her panties when somebody knocked. “Just a second,” she called out. She wasn’t at her spot somewhere upstairs in the warehouse where the only partitions were fabric. She needed a door in order to get dressed and that’s what the bathroom was for. Quickly straightening her robe, she said, “Come in.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Robb said. He was dressed in black pants, a pristine white shirt. A black vest was unbuttoned on his chest and a loose bow tie hung down the sides of his throat. He held up a flash drive to her. 

Frowning, Brienne took it and asked, “What’s this?”

“What you asked for.”

Her face cleared as she flushed. “I. . .asked if you could. You didn’t have to.”

“I know. But it’s you. What are partners for?”

She looked at the object in her hands. Small yet carrying memories in gigabytes. A life. Her eyes cast a worried glow as they met Robb’s.

“You don’t have to give it to him,” he told her gently. “That’s up to you.”

Brienne looked at the flash drive again before pushing it in the pocket of her robe.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve always thought the mission matters above all. Always. Until now.”

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Everything will be alright, Brienne. Trust me.”

“I do.”

He gave her hand another squeeze before letting go. “So. I’ll have to go ahead. You know how it is with service people. Always first before everyone else.” He bid her goodbye and shut the door behind him.

Left to herself, Brienne began to get ready. She put on makeup, keeping it minimal with dark eyeliner and red lipstick. She applied product on her hair to give the short locks a mussed, just-out-of-bed look. 

There were still things left to do before she put on her dress. A holster wrapped around her firm thigh contained a small handgun, and a tiny tool kit. In her purse was a mirror that functioned as a camera and a video that transmitted images within fifty feet. This was designed by Jaqen. Her lipstick tube functioned as such but also had a few tricks. Two turns to the right revealed a hook with a cable harness that extended ten feet and could hold three hundred pounds. A turn to the left and it released knock-out gas. She smiled because this was made by Jaime.

She was about to put on the dress when someone knocked on the door again. Before she could call out, it opened and Jaime came in. 

“Come on!” Brienne protested, her hands quickly covering her breasts. He paused, enjoying the sight of the blush that quickly spread from her face down to her chest. 

He was fully dressed in a tux. Gone was the black dye. His golden locks were back. Though there was a tiredness in his eyes, they gleamed as they regarded her hungrily: her bare, endless legs, rippled with muscle, the holster around her thigh, the narrow triangle of her skin-tone underwear, where pale blond curls peeked from the edges, her stomach taut with muscle. He grinned at her annoyed, red face, at how she clutched at her small breasts protectively, futilely, from him. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Blue,” he drawled. 

She glared at him “Still, this is indecent.”

“If it helps, I think you look splendid,” he strode forward and Brienne stepped back, backing into the dress. It swished behind her. His emerald eyes raked her like a physical caress. “It’s taking every ounce of willpower I have to not take you against the wall and fuck you.”

“Seven Hells. This is not the time for that, Jaime.”

“You don’t have to remind me. I’m actually here to give you something.”

Brienne’s eyes drifted to her discarded robe then back to him. He held out what what looked to be X-straps in black, studded with gold detail.

“For you. It'a harness,” he said. “It doesn’t look much but it’s bulletproof and opens up into a chute. I figured you already have enough weapons to shoot the enemy,” he added, nodding appreciatively at her thigh holster, “but not one that would give you a quick getaway.”

Brienne didn’t know how to respond to that. But she definitely recognized the mushy feeling beginning to happen in her. “How--How does it go on?”

“Can I help you dress? No inappropriate touching,” he promised her, holding up his hands. “I swear it, impossible as it is to promise and to believe. I won’t touch you anymore than I need to.”

“Well," she said, tilting her head, considering. She nodded. "Turn around.”

“Brienne—“ he began to protest.

“What if somebody walks in like you did? Turn around, Jaime.”

Sighing loudly, he did as asked. Brienne quickly stepped into the dress, shimmying it up her legs, over her hips. It was strapless, and with her small breasts, impossible to hold on to while trying to zip it up. Groaning and getting red in the face, she mumbled, “Um, could you. . .the zipper?”

“Gladly,” Jaime responded. Brienne held the dress to her breasts as he pulled up the zipper. She froze when his lips suddenly brushed against her ear, her neck, before pressing fully on her shoulder.

“I know I said no inappropriate touching, but what about kissing?”

He continued kissing her shoulder, her nape, but his hands were nowhere on her person. Brienne leaned against him but suddenly straightened up. Sensing him smile rather than seeing it, she kept her back to him as Jaime put himself away from her. 

“Sorry.”

She spun around. “Don’t be. I’m not. Oh, and thank you for the zipper.”

He smiled then held out the harness to her. “Shall I?” 

He helped her slide her arms through it. It crisscrossed over her shoulders and chest, meeting at her navel. Jaime went around her to secure it with decorative, golden hooks that didn’t dig at her skin nor snag at her dress. 

Brienne stood in front of the mirror the whole time, checking the progress. It was black like her dress, so it looked like part of it. The addition of the contraption gave her dress an edgy, avant-garde feel. 

“How does it feel?” Jaime asked her. He looked at her through the mirror. “Too tight? Loose?”

She shook her head, still staring at their reflection in the mirror. “It’s perfect.” 

He lowered his head to her shoulder then stopped. “Can I kiss you again?” His whisper was ragged.

Looking at him through them mirror, at the light in his green eyes, she had no other answer. She nodded.

He sucked at the skin on her shoulder, nipped the flesh before he lifted his head.

She turned around to face him. “Let’s go over this one more time.”

He nodded. “We arrive at the party as the Greyjoys.”

“You’re Theon.”

“You’re Asha.”

“We’re a private security firm with a strong client base in Braavos.”

“Should we run into Viserys or any of his associates.”

“After we scout the party for Viserys and his associates, we sneak into your office floor.”

“We exit through the fire escape.”

“You will disable the Wildfyre. Destroy it one and for all. I'll stand guard outside while you do this.”

“I will give you the signal.”

She nodded. “Then I pull the alarm.”

“Jaqen will be waiting for us one block away.”

Brienne looked into his eyes. “He will drop you off in front of Lannister Corporation.”

Jaime took her hand. “I return to my family.”

“When they ask—“

He nodded. “I tell them I was asked by the government to help with Viserys.”

“Okay.”

Brienne stared at their joined hands. Neither would let go. “Jaime, we can’t.” But she wasn't talking only to him. 

“Is this really goodbye?” He demanded.

“We can’t see each other again.”

“Is that really what you believe or what you were trained to say?”

“How dare you imply I can’t think for myself?”

“How dare you throw away what we have?”

“We don’t have anything. We’re two broken people who turned to each other and that’s it. You love another—“

“I don’t, gods damn it.”

“You do! Don’t deny it. I can’t have you denying it only to have it turn out to be true. I can’t, Jaime. I can’t.” 

“You don’t trust me,” he said bitterly. “You’ve kissed me and fucked me. _I've tasted you._ You’ve told me about your scars but still you don’t trust me.”

“I do. I trust you, Jaime, it’s just that---“

“What?” He roared.

“Love doesn’t go away just like that. It doesn’t.”

The silence between them was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Jaime recovered first.“Fucking Seven Hells, Brienne. I—“

“Don’t say it. Gods, Jaime, I can’t. . .I won’t. . .especially not now. Do you see why? We can’t. We can’t just be.” Brienne said desperately. What was left of her heart began to break. But she was determined to see things through, to do what was right. She was an agent of Westeros first and above all. She snatched her hand away, ignoring the emptiness that hit her soon after her. She groped for her robe and pulled out the flash drive. “And I haven’t told you everything.”

He looked at what she held. “What’s that?”

She took a deep breath. “Everything you need to know about your son. And your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made some changes and tweaks. My works are unbeta'd so it takes me a while to catch the errors. Thank you for reading.   
> HAPPY NEW YEAR!


	50. They're Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then start acting like one rather than snarling and stomping your pretty feet like a child forced to eat broccoli. You don’t carry my name yet but you are associated with me, my family. I won’t have our name tarnished by your lack of tact.”
> 
> ______  
> We get Olenna! And Loras!  
> As of December 12, I deleted the first half of the chapter. I didn't like it. It just dragged the story. kept th rest, though. I'm sorry! But I think this is an improvement. Thank you for reading. :-)

Robb, Jaqen and Bronn, who were undercover as wait staff and security for the masque ball at Targaryen Industries, left early. Jon was leading the mission tonight, and would be doing it from a twenty-four hour internet café shop right across the building. Tormund would be functioning as the limo driver for Catelyn and Oberyn. They would be posing as a couple owning a security company that Viserys Targaryen might be interested in hiring, given what had happened to the recent disappearance of his most valuable employee within his place of business. Through Oberyn’s efforts, he managed to get their names on the list: Robert Reyne and his wife, Catherine.

The last to arrive would be Jaime and Brienne. They would first cause a distraction for Robb to eliminate one of the guests. As this happens, Catelyn and Oberyn would ingratiate themselves into Viserys’ group so that they could get in that meeting involving Gregor Clegane, Mandon Moore and Boros Blount. Their task would be to record and observe and turn over this information to the authorities. Nevertheless, Catelyn and Oberyn were armed to the teeth. She had a gun holster strapped around her thigh and a knife under her shoe. He had a gun strapped around his ankle as well as a watch that would shoot off two poison darts. 

Meanwhile. Tormund would sneak up to the mainframe and manipulate the surveillance feed in the Wildfyre floor. They had to assume that Jaime would be most likely blocked from accessing the floor now. First, they had to hide him despite right being on the floor. The next step was a leap of faith: going through the system check and hoping he didn’t end up with of Viserys’ security shooting holes in his head. Brienne would stand guard.  
But before they could do this, they had to wait for the okay from both Jon and Tormund. Only then will they sneak out of the party. 

“You look beautiful,” Oberyn said, giving Catelyn an appreciative once-over as they stood in line with other guests. None of them were wearing masks yet as the security at the end had every guest go through facial analysis before giving them admittance.

“Save it for the ball,” Catelyn said, glancing around. 

“But you do look beautiful. I confess I’m quite excited,” Oberyn continued. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a mission.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“I promise you I won’t be a dead weight.”

“Or dead. Else Howland would have my head.”

“His days are numbered, you know.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Maybe you two can talk about something that won’t give you away,” Jon’s voice came through the comms in their ears. “Talk about the fucking weather, for crying out loud. Or comment on other people's clothes. Anything.”

“Noted. So. Big crowd tonight,” Oberyn remarked blandly.

Catelyn nodded. “Yes.”

Silence.

Jon groaned. “You’re a couple. You’re married.”

“The fire has gone out,” Catelyn said. “We could just barely tolerate each other.”

“Except in the bedroom. The hate sex is ultra-hot,” Oberyn added.

 _“Seven fucking hells,”_ this time, it was Robb who spoke. 

“Maybe you should go with Executioner’s cover, Viper,” Jon said. “If you don’t want your eyes gouged out before this night’s end.”

 

Bronn was dressed in the red-and-black uniform of a guard of Targaryen Industries when Jaime and Brienne approached ten minutes later. His gray eyes met Jaime and beckoned he come forward. Brienne glanced at Jaime before they parted. As her fingers loosened, he realized they had been holding hands.

“Good evening, sir,” Bronn said formally. He aimed a hand-held device at Jaime. “If you would stay still.”

Though Jon had tweaked some of Jaime’s features in the photo—widened his jaw, broadened his nose, raised his hairline, Jaime still worried he would be recognized. He wore a fake beard, blue contacts and square-framed glasses. He took a deep breath—one he didn’t realize he was holding—when the guard sitting in front of a computer monitoring the scans nodded. Bronn bade him to come forward. Just then, Brienne was also told to come forward. She was done with facial analysis.

“Finally,” Jaime said, slipping on his mask. It covered half his face. Gold feathers surrounded it. Brienne’s mask was gold and surrounded by purple feathers. He took her hand.

“To be honest, I find this creepy,” Brienne told him.

“What? The masks?” She nodded.

“It’s because you don’t know who these people are,” she said. “I understand how it can be freeing—the mask gives anonymity so you can be crazy and say whatever shit you want and no one would know it’s you—but it’s that, precisely. Like how do we know the good guy from the bad?”

“Maybe you have to love him to know,” Jaime told her. 

Through the holes of her mask, her eyes were big and beautifully blue. 

She turned away from him.

As they wove through the party, he asked her, “Why did you give me that information, Blue?”

“We may be communicating through a secure channel, Damsel,” she told him, using his damnable call sign. “But this is not the time to talk about personal matters.”

"So who was speaking about people in masks being creepy?” Jaime asked her. “Oathkeeper or Blue?”

She didn’t look at him. 

“I myself don’t like them,” he said. “I want to know who stands before me. It’s cowardice to hide behind masks, though the ones we have on are pretty.”

Brienne suddenly squeezed his hand. “Twelve o’clock. Dragon.”

Jaime suddenly tensed, knowing who she was talking about. He followed her gaze. 

Viserys Targaryen wore his long, blond hair in a ponytail. His mask was a gleaming, black and red creation that reminded Jaime of blood and oil. The effect was macabre and sickening to look at. Viserys matched it with another of his pretentious overcoats, a velvet, blood-red number. A lithe, dark-haired woman in a high-necked white dress stood next to him. 

His head turned to them. Brienne smoothly moved in front of Jaime. 

And kissed him.

 _Would I ever get tired of her softness?_ Jaime wondered as he kissed her back. Brienne’s kisses were never sweet. They were real and human, warm and true. It took every ounce of willpower to not haul her to his chest and kiss her the way he wanted, the way she knew he wanted to kiss her, hot and consuming and needing. Loving. Jaime frowned behind his mask as he settled for a mere brushing of mouths and the hesitant flick of her tongue against his. That was nearly his undoing. 

Mercifully, Brienne pulled away. It helped little. Her mouth was red and slick. Swollen. Begging to be kissed.

“Pretend to take me in your arms,” she told him, unaffected. “Smile and pretend to whisper. Tell me what the Dragon is doing.”

If subterfuge was the last time he could hold her, Jaime was taking it. He trailed his hands up her toned, muscular arms before pulling her to him by pressing her at the small of her back. He licked at her shoulder and nibbled at her throat. Her shock exploded from every pore of her glorious skin. They both knew he wasn’t pretending. 

“He’s talking to the woman beside him. Thin girl. Dark hair. Prim dress. He’s greeting guests. I don’t see any of his usual associates yet.” Jaime sucked at the tip of Brienne’s ear and he felt her knees buckle. Good. He nuzzled her neck as he slowly, lingeringly, moved to the other side. He playfully bit at her supple shoulder, followed it with tiny, sucking kisses as he continued, “There’s a woman approaching him. Green dress. Black and gold beaded mask. Blond hair.”

Jaqen suddenly spoke. “I see her.”

Jaime nipped at Brienne’s chin. She whimpered. Keeping his eye on Viserys, he said, “Green Lady hasn’t left yet. Old friends?”

“There’s nothing we can do if she’s masked,” Jon said. “Executioner. Run interference. I need a visual.”

“Copy,” said Catelyn.

When Catelyn crossed Jaime’s line of sight, he seized the opportunity to pull Brienne down for a kiss. She tapped at his shoulder, trying to tell him discreetly to stop. Hells. Not yet. Jaime cupped her by the nape and pushed his tongue past her pliant lips. Her tongue slid against him.

 _“Jaime.”_ She whispered.

“That’s right.” He growled before roughly setting her away. He continued to watch Viserys and the woman. 

“Image uploading,” Jon said. Catelyn had taken a photo with one of the tools Jaime and Jaqen had designed. 

Brienne, whose chin and neck were flushed, asked breathlessly, “Who is she?”

“Inconclusive. Maybe if we can do a voice tracking,” Jon said. 

“Let me,” came Robb's voice. "I'm going around serving drinks." 

The service staff also wore masks. Robb wore a black mask that covered the upper half of his face. He sauntered toward Viserys and his small group, carrying a tray of champagne in flutes. He made sure to speak and smile at the woman in green as he handed her a glass of the bubbly drink. Jaime and Brienne, turning, watched. Suddenly, she stiffened. He kissed her on the cheek, thinking her cold. 

“Uploading,” Jon said. “Give me a minute.”

Jaime and Brienne looked at each other. He realized she was holding her breath. 

Suddenly, Jon demanded, _“Who the fuck is Alysanne Tarth?”_

 

In spite of what had happened earlier, Tywin and Cersei were the picture of a loving parent and his daughter when the Tyrells came to them. Tywin and Cersei were picked up from Casterly Rock by the President’s Men and taken to Rose Tower, the presidential residence. They did not have long to wait. Thank the gods, Cersei thought, grimacing at the green and gold color scheme of the room, the rose figurine on every flat surface. 

“It appears you are as eager as I am to get this nonsense over and done with,” came Olenna Tyrell’s voice. She was walking with her arm around her grandson Loras’ arm. In the security of the Rose Room, the President’s Men still abound but they let the stubborn woman have as much freedom as possible. 

Olenna Tyrell was a wizened woman of indeterminate years but walked straight and erect, her steps sure rather than unsteady. Her dark brown hair, shot with silver and white, was swept back in an elegant roll. Deep lines surrounded her eyes, and more appeared when she smiled. Still, one did not have to think hard that once, when she was young, she was very beautiful. 

“President Tyrell,” Tywin greeted her.

“Pah. President Tyrell. This ridiculousness that my advisers are making me attend is a waste of time. The country needs to be run and ruled twenty-four hours every day but I am off to some silly party with masks and costumes. Dear,” this time, she spoke to Loras as she beamed at Cersei, “doesn’t your future bride look particularly lovely this evening?”

Loras smiled. “Indeed she does, grandmother.”

Thick, dark brown curls coated Loras’ head and tumbled to his cheeks, giving him a playful, irreverent appearance. His eyes were bright and golden, more chocolate brown than dark. His features were delicate, almost girlish, and he was more of a pretty man than handsome. But he was tall, easily dwarfing his grandmother, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. He was dressed in a black tux like Tywin.

“Forgive me for not noticing right away,” he continued, still speaking to Cersei, “but you are ravishing.”

“Thank you for noticing, President Tyrell, Loras,” Cersei said, inclining her head to them. Her smile was pleasant and looked sincere due to practice.  
“Let us old people go our way while you children go your own,” Olenna announced, letting go of Loras’ arm. “Come, Tywin. Walk with me. No need to be careful. I may not be as tall as you but this thorny rose can definitely keep up with an aging lion such as you.”

“Cersei,” Loras said, offering him her arm. She took it wordlessly. He held out his arm and one of the guards brought him two sets of glittering, artfully-designed masks. He handed one to Cersei and kept the other for himself. 

As Tywin and Olenna shuffled ahead of them, Loras glanced at his betrothed. Noticing this, Cersei looked back then ahead of them.

“What?”

“You look as if you’re being led to a slaughter. Is being with your fiancé that abhorrent?”

“It’s not you. It’s this thing we’re going to.”

“I thought you liked parties.”

Cersei raised her eyebrow at the mask in her hands then looked straight ahead again. “I don’t like masks. I also don’t like fraternizing with dragons. They burn everything in their path.”

She jumped when he placed a warm hand on her arm. Pulling her to a stop, he turned to face her. Cersei looked at him.

“We can’t be late, Loras.”

“No, we can’t,” he agreed. “I know how Lannisters and Targaryens are. But you must start learning that even before you’re married to me you’ll be, what’s your words, fraternizing with creatures you deem low and unworthy of your presence. You’d be wise to be discreet. It might serve you better than your usual bluntness.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you just insult me?”

“Never. But someone has to tell you the truth, girl.”

 _“Girl,”_ Cersei sneered. “I’m a woman.”

The friendliness in Loras’ face vanished. His eyes darkened and he loomed over Cersei. “Then start acting like one rather than snarling and stomping your pretty feet like a child forced to eat broccoli. You don’t carry my name yet but you are associated with me, my family. I won’t have our name tarnished by your lack of tact.”

“I told my father,” Cersei said, relishing the words, “that I will not marry you.”

“Your father needs the alliance more than we do,” Loras said, shrugging. “Like it or not, Cersei, you’ll be married to me. I don’t like it very much either—“

She snorted at that. “Of course you don’t. You don’t want what’s between my legs.”

“No,” Loras agreed, unshaken by her revelation. “But that’s the only thing about you that’s worth anything and not by much, to tell you the truth. But you of all people know how your father is when he is disobeyed. Even by his own flesh and blood.”

Cersei began to snatch her hand away from him but Loras held her fast. Dark eyes clashed against angry green.

“Save that for later, children,” Olenna called out. “The masque at Targaryen Industries await us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated whether to include Olenna and Loras. I hope this works. *crosses fingers


	51. No Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure, Oathkeeper?” Jon asked her.  
> Jaime’s eyes darted to the side, looking behind her. Despite the pain in her chest, Brienne nodded. “It’s the surest I’ve ever been."

Despite the mask covering half her face, there was no mistaking the horror on Brienne’s face. Her complexion went from moonlight to deathly pale. Jaime’s hand, still warm against her back, felt the chill that slowly spread, followed by goosebumps. His first reaction was to hold her tighter but her breathing was quick and shallow. Realizing he was caging her, Jaime eased back a bit. 

“I’m endangering the mission,” Brienne’s voice sounded hollow to her ears. She turned right then left, swaying. The room was too hot yet also cold, there were too many people and she feared getting crushed anytime. Gasping, she turned too quickly. Her knees knocked together. Jaime caught her, steadied her. Brienne buried her face in his shoulder as a few guests looked their way. 

Frustrated at her lack of control, she growled, “This won’t do. I have to get out here. I’m endangering everyone.”

“Calm down,” Jaime told her. His hands were bruising around her arms. Brienne went with the pain. Sometimes, pain was soothing. Sometimes, it saved her. 

Robb, who had seen her reaction, suddenly came in through the comms. “This is Wolf. Acknowledge, Damsel.”

Jaime was looking at Brienne as he spoke. “Acknowledged.” 

“Get Oathkeeper out of here.”

“Who’s Alysanne Tarth?” Jon still wanted to know. “Oathkeeper?”

“What’s going on?” Cately asked.

There were too many voices in her head. Brienne clutched at Jaime’s jacket. “I need to get out of here,” she gasped, feeling herself beginning to disintegrate from inside. 

“Somebody tell me what’s going on,” Catelyn demanded.

Brienne’s head felt too heavy for her neck, her shoulders. Jaime pulled her close. She sagged against him, mumbling an apology. He kissed her reassuringly on the cheek.“There’s too many people. We’re going to need help here.” He was speaking to whoever was listening to him through comms. 

“Hold on. Gonna make a detour,” Tormund suddenly spoke. 

“I have to get out of here.” Brienne’s eyes were wild.

“You will.” Jaime kissed her full on the lips, never mind that she was clearly having a hard time breathing. But Brienne sighed and responded, letting out a long, careful exhale. The goosebumps receded, making her skin smooth again. But she was still cool to the touch. She whimpered when he pulled away. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he told her. What was happening?

He said it like he meant it. She believed him. It gave her courage.

“You’re taking too long, Wildling,” Catelyn said. “Viper and I are handling this.”

“Jaime. I mean, Damsel,” Brienne was still clutching at him. “Can we. . .at least let’s try to get near the side. Near the pillars?”

As she spoke, a couple wearing masks that seemed to have every feather off a bird walked by and bumped into Brienne, sending her further into Jaime’s arms. She was about to back away, the jolt helping her regain some of her sense, when he cupped her face tenderly in his hands and took her lips in a kiss straight out of a fairy tale. She felt her heart begin to slow down, the chill in her bones melting away bit by bit. When he was about to pull away, she shook her head.

“Please don’t stop,” she whispered. She spoke of more than this kiss.

“I don’t want to,” he told her and caught her lips again. She would like to think that he too meant more than the kiss.

As they kissed, the band started to play tango music. Couples smiled at each other and some began to head for the dance floor. Oberyn and Catelyn reached the center first. 

From the moment the first strings of the music began to play, Oberyn and Catelyn owned the floor. They moved together smoothly, fluidly, reading and anticipating each other’s movements perfectly. An audience soon gathered around them, watching in admiration. The crowd began to thin as they started to move to the dance floor to watch the striking couple. Hearing the noise begin to retreat, Brienne slowed her kisses until Jaime nodded and stepped back. His hand on her cheek, he remained close. Brienne blushed as his eyes fell on her kiss-swollen mouth.

“Oathkeeper. Damsel. You’re on,” said Robb.

“We should head for the Wildfyre,” Brienne said, still looking around. 

“Not yet,” said Tormund. “This is a brute of a security system. Your access has been denied, Damsel. Working on it right now.”

“Fire escape,” Jaime said.

“No,” Robb and Jon said at the same time.

“Still trying to access the security there. You’ll be spotted,” Jon said.

“Oathkeeper must be removed from the mission,” Robb said.

“I’m fine now,” Brienne growled as Jaime led her through the crowd. "A momentary lapse. I'm back." 

“You said it yourself. You’re endangering the mission being here. Recommend change of assignment.” Catelyn suddenly spoke. She was in Oberyn’s arms, looking deep in his eyes as she spoke. 

“Agree. Sellsword. Acknowledge,” Jon said.

“Need me for something?” Daario’s voice was droll. He was parked two blocks away, reduced to being in charge of their getaway. “Remembered me, didn’t you?”

“Get Oathkeeper out of here. Damsel, escort her out—holy fuck.”

“What?” Oberyn demanded. He and Catelyn didn’t lose their momentum and continued dancing. 

“It’s the Queen of Thorns.” It was Bronn who answered. “And the Lannister lot.”

This time, it was Jaime who froze. 

Brienne rubbed his arms, attempting to put some feeling back into them. “We really need to get to the Wildfyre floor now, Wildling.”  
She faced the entrance as she spoke. Sure enough, she saw the contingent of President Olenna Tyrell’s guards. She was unmasked. Beside her stood Tywin Lannister. He was bare-faced too. Behind him was a woman with a stream of long, silk golden hair. Her hand was wrapped around the arm of a man with curly dark hair. They both wore masks. Brienne wanted to look away, feeling a catch in her throat at seeing in the flesh the woman who had Jaime's heart. 

“Tell me what you see,” Jaime asked her softly.

“Your father,” Brienne's voice was wooden as she looked over his shoulder. She swallowed. “Your sister.”

Behind his mask, Jaime’s eyes darkened. Brienne felt herself begin to die inside. When will it end?

“It’s hard to see. But your. . .family. They’re with the Queen of Thorns. And her grandson. They’re surrounded.”

“We have to eliminate her,” Robb said.

“The party’s started,” Bronn said. “The Wild Bunch is here.”

The Wild Bunch was their collective name for Boros Blount, Mandon Moore and Gregor Clegane.

“But if it helps,” Bronn continued, “they’re being barred at the moment. Looks like there won’t be any new guests coming in while the the Queen of Thorns is around. Good for us. I think.”

“That means no one will be leaving either,” Catelyn said.

Brienne stared at Jaime as she spoke. “I’m not leaving.”

Jaime, his arms around her waist, pulled her closer. He turned them around. 

“Acknowledge,” Brienne said.

“Are you sure, Oathkeeper?” Jon asked her.

Jaime’s eyes darted to the side, looking behind her. Despite the pain in her chest, Brienne nodded. “It’s the surest I’ve ever been. The mission continues.”

They looked at each other.

“Let’s try for some honesty, Lannister,” Brienne told him. His ears perked up at her words. It was time. 

“I guess this is it, then,” Jaime said. Suddenly, he raised his head and kissed her again. She would have reeled back in surprise if not for his insistent, secure hold around her waist, his hand at her nape bending her toward his lips. She kissed him back, her mouth hungry and wanting all of him, needing him. In this kiss she poured out her apology and anger, at things that have happened and the unknown that waited for them. Her tongue glided across his lips and he growled, sucking at the tip, before she managed to pull away.

They stared at each other, flushed and panting.

Tormund’s voice spoke through the comms. “I’m in the system.”

Jon asked, “Oathkeeper? Are we sticking to the plan?”

Brienne stared at Jaime. They were still holding hands. “Yes.”

“We’re finishing,” Catelyn told them. “Three, two, one. . .”

Out of the corner of her eye, Brienne could see Catelyn and Oberyn exiting the dance floor, smiling at the applauding crowd.

“The Queen of Thorns is in,” Robb said. “It’s time.”

Brienne’s hand climbed up to Jaime’s cheek. He held it in both hands and kissed her palm, her wrist.

“Don’t go soft on me,” he suddenly said, his eyes burning through the holes of his mask. “But let me say something honest before it ends. I love you, Blue.” 

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered. In what was appearing to be a lifetime in masks, for once she was glad for the cover of one. 

Then she slapped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee, an update! I'm sorry for being so late. But this story is bigger than I thought would be so I had to go back and iron out some stuff, revise and all. I'm not yet done so I'm pretty sure there are still some errors. Please bear with me. My works are unbeta'd.


	52. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime exhaled while Brienne, tensing, looked at the door. She pointed the gun at it.   
> “Are they coming for us?”  
> “They’re waiting for you. I’ve already alerted the cavalry.”  
> “How many?”

Robb and Jaqen exchanged looks when he returned to the bar with a tray of empty flutes. As Robb put away the glasses and Jaqen continued pouring drinks, they heard the loud, sharp sound of a palm colliding with a cheek. The two men looked up just in time to see Jaime Lannister almost bent over in real pain. Brienne stood before him, her mouth a grim, hard line. Heads turned in their direction. The slap was so loud it even brought the orchestra to a screeching halt.

“Even when she’s pretending,” Jaqen said under his breath, “you don’t fuck with Oathkeeper.”

“I need eyes, Executioner, Viper,” Robb said as he finished with his task. He felt for the cuffs of his shirt. 

Catelyn and Oberyn were walking through the crowd, smiling still at the compliments thrown their way. As Catelyn expressed her thanks, Oberyn, discreetly looking around, said, “There’s a camera at your eleven o’clock and another at your three. There’s a third on our twelve—also yours, Wolf.”

“Wildling. Crow. Can we kill the feeds?” Robb asked.

Before either could speak, Jaime and Brienne started arguing loudly.

“You were looking at her!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The one with the peacock feathers!”

“You sound ridiculous. Everyone here’s dressed in peacock feathers!”

Brienne stamped her foot. “I knew I shouldn’t trust you anymore.”

“Sweetheart—“

As Brienne whirled around to leave, Jaime grabbed her by the arm. She shrieked. “Don’t you touch me, you bastard.”

“Negative,” Tormund told him. “There’s a separate system for that. I’m almost inside the Wildfyre floor security.”

Jaqen noticed the security personnel going toward Jaime and Brienne. “Help’s coming.”

“Make your move, Wolf,” Catelyn said as Oberyn continued to steer her through the crowd.

“Affirmative,” Robb murmured, walking away from the bar. He took only the empty tray with him. As he walked, he kept his eye on President Tyrell. Jaime and Brienne were now surrounded by security, telling them to take their argument outside. As Brienne protested and Jaime roared at them to stay out, Robb noticed that Viserys was beginning to look at them. Despite his mask, he was clearly curious. The thin woman in the high-necked dress was still standing next to him. The woman in green was gone.

_Alysanne Tarth._

Robb knew he had to move. If she was in the building, she was clearly up to something, on Viserys’ orders. As he moved to position himself behind a pillar, he glanced at the cameras Oberyn told him to watch out for. He’d have to find a blind spot. 

“It’s all clear.” Tormund said through the comms. “Oathkeeper, Damsel. Come in.”

“Sweetheart, they’re right. This is a private thing between us. This isn’t the right place,” Jaime told Brienne. “Let’s go home.”

“Alright. But you’re still not touching me.” Head high, Brienne left, her skirt swirling behind her. Jaime shrugged at the crowd, looking very much like a helpless man devoted to his headstrong wife, before he followed. 

“Make your move, Wolf.” Catelyn said.

Robb nodded. “Acknowledged. Going into position.”

He moved smoothly behind the pillar, his eyes not leaving President Tyrell. He pulled out a three-inch handgun from under his shirt cuff. The president’s back faced him. The tight circle of her guards was not making his job easy. 

He picked up the gleaming tray, angled it towards the light and shifted it. Sure enough, several of President’s Tyrell’s guards flinched and looked away. He kept on moving it. When the guards were distracted enough, he took the gun and aimed.

He heard it: the soft sound of a bullet cutting through skin. Cries went across the crowd as President Olenna Tyrell slid to the ground.

“Is she down?’ Jon asked.

Robb, quickly retracting his arm, shook his head. His eyes wide, he answered, “It wasn’t me.”

“It’s me.”

Robb turned around and everything went black.

 

As soon as the guards were no longer within their sight, Jaime and Brienne tore off their masks. Then she led him through the fire escape, light on her feet in spite of her long skirt and high heels. They were running up the stairs when they heard Robb’s surprised voice telling them he didn’t take the shot, followed by another voice claiming the deed. Brienne froze, causing Jaime to collide into her.

“Wolf.” She spoke through the comms. “Can you hear me? Wolf? Come in.”

Silence. 

“Is anyone in contact with Wolf?” Brienne demanded.

“Negative.” Jon answered.

Oberyn’s just broke through. The chaos in the lobby made him near-impossible to comprehend. “Viper—chaos. . . running. . .can’t. . .gone.”

“I’m going in.” Jon said. “Oathkeeper, continue with Damsel.”

Despite conflict in her face, Brienne nodded. She resumed running up the stairs, Jaime right behind her. She signalled him to stay behind her as she pulled her gun out from under her skirt. “Wildling. Come in.” 

“I’m on the other side of the door.” Tormund said.

Gesturing at Jaime to remain behind her, Brienne pulled the door open, gun poised to shoot. Tormund had his arms up. 

“We’re the only ones here.” He told her.

Brienne nodded. “Alright. Wait for us. Jaime, it’s your show.”

“See you.” Tormund said, and he exited through the fire escape.

“Crow, we’re at the Wildfyre floor.” Brienne said, a finger in her ear for the comms.

“Acknowledged. I’m trying to get in the building.”

Jaime remained behind Brienne as they walked toward the laboratories. As he punched in his code and swiped his ID, he told her, “You have one hell of an arm, Agent Tarth.”

“Thank you. And sorry.” Brienne winced at the pink marks of her fingers on his cheek.

He grinned at her as the door popped open. “Don’t worry about it. Come on. Let’s go.”

She nodded, looking around one more time before she followed him through the hallway. The door locked back in place. “We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get on with it,” she told Jaime.

“This way.”

He led her down the last room. This time, he punched in another series of codes before being prompted for a retinal scan. Next, he placed his fingers over a pad, a grimace curling his handsome features. “DNA,” he explained to Brienne. 

The door slid open. He hesitated and turned to her. “You can’t follow me here, Blue.”

“I know. I’ll stay out here.”

“I’ll be fast.”

“You can start now.”

“A kiss for luck?”

She frowned. “Get to work, Jaime. Remember. You have to destroy all the Wildfyre. Download all the information here.” She handed him a slim drive no thicker and heavier than a cracker from her holster. “It will easily fit around five terrabytes.”

“A kiss for a job well done, then. I can work with that.” His grin was rakish as he took it. Then he entered, disappearing behind the door. 

Brienne stood guard. She realized for the first time that in this long hallway, the only places to hide were rooms that required a special pass code for access. She wiped the sweat at her forehead with the back of her hand, keeping her eyes on the door at the other end of the hallway. The video feeds in the floor were gone. To verify if she had eyes where she was blind, she got in touch with Tormund.

“Aye, I can see you and the hallway outside. You’re safe.” He told her.

“Where’s Crow?”

“He’s inside. The Queen of Thorns is out.” He paused and said. “Wolf is still missing.”

Brienne felt bitter bile well up in her throat. This was not good at all. “Keep me posted.”

Five minutes later, Jaime stepped out. His face was grave. “They’ve made the Wildfyre into smart bullets.”

“What?”

“It gets worse. They have the medical records of the President.” He showed her the drive. “It’s all in here. I wiped all the data and Wildfyre I could. The smart bullets can still be used but without the medical records, they’re ineffective. That won’t stop Viserys from uploading some other son of a bitch’s DNA and be tracked by it.” 

“We have to get out of here. Now.” Brienne took the drive from him and slipped it down her dress. When she looked up, Jaime was grinning at her.   
“What now?”

“That really happens, huh? Slipping things down the dress?”

“You don’t expect me to root around my skirt again, do you?”

“Not see your legs? I’m the wrong person to ask that.”

Brienne was about to tell him to shut it when Tormund’s voice crackled through.

“There’s a party waiting for you outside, kids. And they’ve got Wolf,” he said.

Jaime exhaled while Brienne, tensing, looked at the door. She pointed the gun at it. 

“Are they coming for us?”

“They’re waiting for you. I’ve already alerted the cavalry.”

“How many?”

“There’s a fat kid with big gun, a lady in green with a bigger gun, and five armed men.” 

Brienne sank against the wall and rolled her eyes. She checked the number of bullets in her gun. Not enough. “That hardly seems fair.”

“It looks like they’re done waiting for you. Fatso’s punching in the code.”

Jaime looked at Brienne. “What do we do?”

“You stay behind me.”

Jaime looked outraged. “Brienne—“

“You’re a civilian. Do you even _know_ how to fire a gun?”

“You think I was only surrounded by Bunsen burners and formulas? Think again, Blue.” And with that, Jaime pulled out a gun from his ankle holster. He glared at her. “I can protect myself, just as I can protect you.”

“You’re still a civilian.” As they heard the last clicks of the code being punched through, she said quickly. “You have to trust me. Stay behind me. We do not engage unless they make the first move. We’re outnumbered and they’ve got Robb. We’re going to be taken. Stay calm. Do what they ask, Jaime. I will protect you. You have my word.”

He looked at her with disapproval. “I swear, Brienne, if you die for me—“

“I need you to trust me.” 

He rubbed a hand roughly on his face. He looked tired and resigned. “Alright. I trust you. But swear to me we'll both walk of of here. Alive.” 

She looked in his eyes. "You have it."

They turned around as the door slid open. Brienne’s eyes narrowed at the man who moved toward them.

“How can you look at yourself in the mirror, Samwell Tarly?” She said coldly.

Sam’s grin was cold. “I don’t struggle like you do, Agent Tarth.”

Jaime stepped forward. Brienne pulled him back. Sam laughed.

“What’s this? Are you fucking this big bitch, Lannister?”

“Now, now, Sam,” came a smooth, feminine voice. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about.”

“Daughter?” Jaime looked confused as Alysanne Tarth, still dressed in her green gown came forward. He recognized her clothes. Once again, he moved in front of Brienne. Again, she pulled him back.

“Brienne, sweetheart.” Alysanne said with cloying sweetness as she approached. Her movements were slinking, like a snake, in her green gown. She held a rifle in her hand. “Aren’t you glad to see your mother?” 

Brienne shot her a look of disgust and anger. Her blue eyes were hard crystals as they bored unflinchingly into Alysanne’s cold, ice-gray gaze. 

“Hello, mother.”


	53. First Blood Is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your fight is with me.” Brienne suddenly spoke up. “Let them go.”  
> Alysanne turned to her. “What a brave thing you’ve become, my sweet daughter.”  
> “Don’t,” Brienne seethed. “I am not your daughter.”  
> “Ah, but you are.” Alysanne drawled. “Although,” she added, peering at her critically. “There’s hardly me on you. The freckles, of course. But the rest is all Selwyn.”  
> “Don’t speak of my father!” Brienne snarled, trying to jerk to her feet if not for the long gown that hampered her movement.   
> “Who’s this character? Your mother?” Jaime snorted as he looked at Alysanne from head to toe. “Hard to tell. The treachery makes it hard to see clearly.”

From the moment Robb informed them he wasn’t the one to shoot President Tyrell, Catelyn started looking around the room. She scanned possible corners for a shooter to hide from, pillars, she tried picking strange behaviour or someone who looked out of place in the crowd. But with the chaos resulting from the President’s shooting, her job had become near impossible. 

As the president’s primary security detail threw themselves into getting her out and toward safety as fast as they can, the rest of them grabbed Loras and all but shoved him out. Cersei Lannister squawked in protest as she hurled toward the exit next while Tywin remained calm. Forming a protective circle around the President, they pushed and dove their way out, sending other guests toppling to the floor. 

She and Oberyn struggled from being swept by the panicked crowd running in all directions at once. As a hard body slammed between them, wrenching them apart, Catelyn caught a glimpse of a familiar figure moving calmly and smoothly through the violent tide of bodies. 

“Tarly,” she murmured. Recovering quickly, she said in a clearer voice, “I’ve got eyes on Slayer.”

Samwell Tarly, dressed in a tux that could barely restrain his rotund figure, wove smoothly through the crowd, smirking. Behind him, two men followed. They held the limp form of Robb. 

Catelyn paled. “Slayer and two associates have Robb. They’re going out of the lobby. I’m following them.”

“Negative, Executioner.” Jon sounded like he was running. “Stay where you are.”

Catelyn glared at Sam, hoping the fire in her eyes would hit him and prompt him to turn around. He did. He easily found her and shot her a menacing grin. 

“I can’t hear you, Crow. I’m going in.”

Ignoring Oberyn calling her, Catelyn knifed through the crowd. She was slender as a reed and her long, clinging dress didn’t make moving easier but she was determined. She stepped over spilled wine and food, not missing a single step in her determined focus. In the comms, Jon was shouting at her to stand down. Bronn was demanding to know what was going on. Daario was bitching about having to stay in the fucking car. She saw Sam lead his team toward the door to the fire escape.

“What the hell are you doing, Cat?” A hard hand grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around. Jaqen stood before her.

“You’re disobeying orders. Stand down. I have her, Crow.” Jaqen said just as Oberyn reached them.

“Somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?” He demanded.

Catelyn shook Jaqen’s hand away. “If you make another move to stop me I will hurt you.”

“You mean to go after them yourself? You don’t even know how many men are there.”

“I’ve handled more. I can take on more.” She tried to walk past him but he blocked her. Her blue eyes flashed cold light before she slammed the tip of her shoe right between his legs. As Jaqen groaned in pain and crumpled to the ground, her elbow crashed between his shoulder blades. She glared at Oberyn.

“Are you going to stop me?” She whispered, ignoring Jaqen’s whimpers of pain.

“Fuck sanctions. Someone has to keep your head on your shoulders.” Oberyn answered, pulling out his gun. Catelyn nodded and delivered a final blow that had Jaqen unconscious.

Catelyn led Oberyn through the crowd, focusing only on the door that Sam and his cohorts disappeared to. As soon as the crowd cleared enough, she took off, picking up the long skirts of her gown and thundering on the slippery, marble tiles of the lobby as fast as her high heels could carry her. She grasped the doorknob of the fire escape.

It didn’t turn.

She slammed her palm on the door.

It didn’t yield.

By the time Oberyn reached her, Catelyn was mad with desperation. As she kicked and hit the door uselessly, she declared, “I have to get my son back.”

Oberyn pointed his gun. “Stand back.” 

 

 

Robb’s head hurt. There was giant fist that squeezed and clawed at his brain at the same time. When he opened his eyes, white-gold spots danced before him, obscuring most of his surroundings. His hearing was no help either. The voices sounded disembodied, finishing with a dull echo. He blinked repeatedly, frowning when the spots cleared a little and showed him Brienne with her hand clasped behind her head, Jaime at her side and his hands in the same position. Robb tried to shake more of the spots from his vision as one of the men, masked in black and outfitted in bulky army greens and boots, kicked her legs out from under her. Her grunt of pain hit Robb’s ears clearly. As the last of the spots drifted away, Jaime jerked towards the man who had kicked her and got the hard, wide butt of the rifle slammed on his chin. He would have gone done if not for another man holding on to him, laughing as Brienne shouted at them not to hurt him. 

By the time Robb’s vision cleared, Samwell Tarly had his pudgy hand around Brienne’s throat and was pressing the tip of his handgun at her cheek. Robb jerked to his feet and was immediately shoved back to the floor on his knees by someone behind him. He counted in his head. One behind me. Possibly another one. Three behind Jaime and Brienne. That bastard Tarly. And Alysanne. 

_We can take them. We will._

“Get him up,” Alysanne Tarth walked from behind Brienne. She handed her gun to one of cohorts as she did. “Mr. Tarly, hands off my daughter, please.”

As Jaime was yanked up to his knees, Sam shoved Brienne away from him. She firmed her spine so she didn’t go down as he wished. Before Alysanne spoke to Brienne, she smiled at Robb.

“Agent Stark. So nice of you to join us at last.” She tutted. Robb knew she was looking at the sore spot at his left temple. “I hope they didn’t hit you too hard. My men are quite. . .devoted in pleasing me.”

“Your fight is with me.” Brienne suddenly spoke up. “Let them go.”

Alysanne turned to her. “What a brave thing you’ve become, my sweet daughter.”

“Don’t,” Brienne seethed. “I am not your daughter.”

“Ah, but you are.” Alysanne drawled. “Although,” she added, peering at her critically. “There’s hardly me on you. The freckles, of course. But the rest is all Selwyn.”

“Don’t speak of my father!” Brienne snarled, trying to jerk to her feet if not for the long gown that hampered her movement. 

“Who’s this character? Your mother?” Jaime snorted as he looked at Alysanne from head to toe. “Hard to tell. The treachery makes it hard to see clearly.”

“Mr. Lannister,” Alysanne inclined her head.

Jaime grinned despite the discomfort resulting from his bludgeoning. “She _is_ your mother, Blue. It’s actually Dr. Lannister.”

“Jaime,” Brienne snapped, “be quiet.”

“We’ve been looking for you, Dr. Lannister. I trust you’ve been in my daughter’s company all this time?”

“How did you manage to get him out of the Black Cells?” Sam wanted to know. He was still brandishing his gun. 

“What do you want from us?” Robb demanded. “If you want to take us then do it already. If you want us to tell you anything, that’s not happening.”  
“You’re not taking Jaime,” Brienne said. “He has nothing to do with this. It’s me you want.”

“Hmm. That’s not what Viserys told me.” Alysanne told her. She inclined her head, looking at Jaime. “He tells me you’re valuable, Dr. Lannister. Would you agree?”

“Well. I was Employee of the Month last year,” Jaime said with a shrug. “If that helps.”

Brienne looked at the ceiling.

“Sam tells me you’re here to destroy the Wildfyre. And I think you were successful. However,” Alysanne glanced at Brienne. “He also mentioned that you’re sure to have the remaining intelligence on Wildfyre. We want it.”

Jaime grinned. “It’s all gone, Alysanne. May I call you, Alysanne?” 

Alysanne shook her head slowly. “That does not bode well for you, Dr. Lannister.”

She held out her hand. "Gun, please."

As soon as it was handed to her, she pointed it at Brienne and fired.


	54. Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was then that she saw Robb shoved in front of her. His shirt was more red than white. Blood dripped from a cut on his head and from his mouth. When he coughed, something popped out. 
> 
> Brienne stared at the contents of his mouth lying in front of her. 
> 
> Teeth. _Three of them._

Death was part of her job yet it was not something Brienne thought of frequently. It was an inevitable consequence, surer and earlier than most people. It was a fact she had long accepted yet when Alysanne swung the gun toward her and pulled the trigger, her heart stilled, preceding death. The action was too fast, too sudden, for Brienne to do little else but stare and watch the small flare of fire that puffed out of its mouth and the bullet rush to her.

Brienne closed her eyes. Her mind reeled back to the last few days, the last few years. She saw a field of emerald green. Felt the warmth of an embrace, scented soap. There was the familiar catch of fear in her throat, of a darkness tinged with the silver of the moon as she lay in bed, her hand over a heart. It was Renly, strong and calm. Somehow, the memory of how he felt had been imbedded in her. But when she looked up it was Jaime, Jaime whose heart she held. In the dark his eyes were the only light, green and golden. In the dark she will always find him, know him. He looked at her and she stared back, losing herself in the cool sea of his emerald eyes. She felt herself beginning to float, toward him, and then she was going through him, drowning in his eyes. As she drifted, she heard him whisper, “Blue.”

She saw a woman whose back faced her, the long fingers of her pale hand running through the mop of golden waves of the child standing next to her. A boy, she realized. 

Jaime’s son. She hurtled forward, wanting to see, wanting to bring him to his father but something suddenly jerked her away. She was powerless—no ground for purchase, nothing to do. As if a rope had been around her waist and she was being reeled back against her will. Farther and farther she went. Then she saw everything.

Herself as a child. Head bowed, pale gold in the sun as children laughed at her. She saw Selwyn’s library. Selwyn. Oh, her dear, dear father. Selwyn who had given her nothing but kindness and love. His eyes were blue as her own. He looked at her and she smiled. This time, when she approached, nothing pulled her back. They would be together at last---

The bullet whizz past her ear before cutting through a thick wall of flesh. She heard the wet yielding of meat and the rush of blood exiting through the hole the bullet created. As she slowly digested the realization that the bullet was not meant for her, a warm spray hit her hard, almost as hard as a slap. She turned her head away but blood was already on her hair, in her ear, dripping down her nose, on her cheek. It was in her lips, on the tip of her tongue, on her shoulders and back, it had slipped past the border of her dress’ neckline. To her horror, she realized that along with blood were chunks of flesh and meat clinging to her cheek, below her ear, her shoulder. Her heart accelerated, almost drowning out the whine swooping in to her ears , causing her to tip forward. 

Determinedly, she opened her eyes. Through the blood dripping from her eyelashes she saw Robb fighting to get to her, his restrained arms offering him no defence from the beating the guards gave him. Jaime was yelling something. He too was trying to get to her. Brienne turned toward him just as he was pummelled between the shoulder blades and fell next to her. For a second, she could only stare at the guard swinging the end of his rifle and his leg at Jaime repeatedly.

Brienne willed herself to move, never mind if it felt being underwater. Somehow she managed to push herself to her feet, raise her leg and bring it down the spine of the guard beating Jaime. When it only sent him to his knees, she raised her leg again and brought her heel at the hollow between his head and nape. Her heel slid past skin and muscle, between the two bone cartilages before she pulled up, a broken column of blood following in the air before it plopped down the dead guard.

Alysanne shouted something. Brienne just managed to step aside before the blunt end of the rifle caught her on the shoulder rather than the intended target that was her skull. Gasping at the hot pain, she crashed to the ground, right next to Jaime, who was groaning. Before she could ask him if he was alright, cruel hands yanked her upright by her hair. It was then that she saw Robb shoved in front of her. His shirt was more red than white. Blood dripped from a cut on his head and from his mouth. When he coughed, something popped out. 

Brienne stared at the contents of his mouth lying in front of her. 

Teeth. _Three of them._

“That wasn’t too smart, my sweet child.” Alysanne yanked at Robb by the throat and pressed the tip of her gun right at his Adam’s apple. It bobbed heavily as he swallowed. “Take a look at poor Sam. He talked too much but did not give me what I wanted. That’s what I’ll do to someone who has been loyal to me all these years. Imagine what I will do to you and your associates if you don’t learn.”

“Let them go.” Brienne said, huffing as whoever was pulling at her hair pulled harder. “They have nothing to do with us.”

“Do you know how to create Wildfyre? I thought not. However. However.” Alysanne looked at Brienne. “Maybe an extra baggage such as yourself will give Dr. Lannister the incentive to cooperate. Take them.”

“No!” Jaime and Robb yelled. Jaime was still on the floor. Lying facedown, his bound arms made it impossible for him to heave himself up.  
Robb grimaced as Alysanne spoke right to his ear while she pressed the gun harder to his throat. “Do you want what happened to Sam to happen to you, Agent Stark?”

Robb looked at Brienne and gave a slight nod. No. She thought, realizing what he was about to do. Before she could speak, he said. “You won’t need Agent Tarth. The Wildfyre isn’t her assignment. It’s mine.”

“He lies—“ Brienne began.

“Shut up!” Jaime yelled at her. He spoke to Alysanne. “They know nothing. It’s only me you want.” He glared at Robb. 

“You shut up, Lanniste!” Brienne roared back. “Alysanne, he wiped all intelligence regarding Wildfyre! I have it. I know where it is—“

Robb talked over her. “Your daughter’s very protective but he’s my asset. She knows nothing. It’s me you want.” 

“Seven Hells. Take me if you must. You have my word of my cooperation if you’ll leave them unharmed.” Jaime told Alysanne.

“Shut up, all of you!” Alysanne exploded. Her face twisting, she pointed her gun again and fired.

 

Catelyn was about to kick the door open when the second gunshot rang out. Oberyn grabbed her, shaking his head and pointing at his ear.  
Tormund was speaking. “—ceiling. She-she-shot at the ceiling. They’re alright. Thank the gods, they’re alright. Thank the gods, thank the gods. . .”

“What’s happening now?’ Catelyn asked.

She didn’t have to wait for Tormund’s answer. Voices raised again. She identified the smug tone of Jaime Lannister and Brienne’s passionate voice. Robb was growling, trying to convince this Alysanne Tarth that he had everything about Wildfyre so she had to take him. 

“You’re going against my direct orders, Executioner,” Jon Snow said in the comms. His voice sounded loud and clear. Cately and Oberyn tensed when they heard footsteps running up the stairs then visibly relaxed when they saw Jon Snow and Bronn.

“This Tarth woman. Whoever she is, she shot Tarly,” Catelyn told them. “We have to make our move soon.”

“I agree. But we’re not going to engage in a shoot ‘em up where the Wildyre is located,” Jon pointed out. “Talk sense, Executioner.”

Catelyn, her eyes daggers, opened her mouth to speak but Oberyn beat her to it. “We’ll have to step back a bit.” Tapping his ear, he asked, “Wildling. Come in. How many remain?”  
“The fat guy’s dead. Oathkeeper took down another. It’s the Green Lady with four men.” Tormund swallowed loudly. “Damsel’s still down. He’s alive. And talking. Tarth just hit. . .Wolf’s her punching bag. Oathkeeper’s trying to reason with her. She just got bashed in the head--”

That did it. Ignorning Jon’s warning shout, Catelyn threw open the door and dove toward the hallway. Blue eyes found blue, blue eyes found gray. 

She pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It ended with another gunshot.


	55. Dealbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My husband and dear daughter know me as Alysanne.” The woman grimaced, clearly hating the name. “But my name is Wenda.”
> 
> “World’s dumbest name.”
> 
> _______  
> Yay! I finally have an update!

Jaime knew that before opening his eyes the sun would hurt. So he kept them shut and cuddled closer to the warm, strong form still fast asleep beside him. Brienne. He nosed against her nape, her rough hair as he slid an arm around her waist. His kisses were lazy, airy brushes against her nape and shoulder as his hand slipped under her shirt to cup the gentle weight of her breast. His name was softer than a whisper from her lips in the stillness of the morning. He sniffed, smelling her clean, soapy scent and the sun. She was so solid. So _vital._ He plucked at her nipples, squeezed her breasts. She arched against him, pressing her hips against his erection.

His eyes had just opened, blinking from the soft light in the room when she turned, sleepy, tousled, her mouth seeking his lips. This kiss was also lazy, unrushed yet passionate, hungry. He nibbled on the pillowy bit of flesh, ran his tongue alongside it. “Brienne,” he whispered, her name his very breath. He licked the long line of her throat as her hands threaded through his hair. He was hard, desperate to be one with her yet again. She looked at him, nodded and raised her arms. His hands shook as he pulled her t-shirt off, shook even more as he traced a long finger around the slight curves, circled the darkening, tight bud of her nipples. She bit her lip as a shuddering sigh escaped her and he was glad. She was not unaffected, she was responsive. She was warm. _Real._

He drew her pajamas to her ankles, kicked off his pants, revealing his eagerness. There was no stopping the groan of pleasure from his lips when he slipped his hand between her thighs and felt the thick, blond tangle of her cunt, the dew sliding down in _rivulets._ His mouth watered, his eyes darkened but he _needed_ to be with her. Later he will fill his mouth with her taste. But for now, he thought, positioning himself and sliding in. She closed her eyes and moaned. His head fell back as the familiar tightness enveloped him. "Brienne." _Gods._ Nothing felt as right as when he was in her. "Brienne." Her name was a sweet, husky roll on his tongue. "My love."

“Who?” 

The voice was sharp with a hateful, jealous edge. Jaime stilled, realizing. Slowly, he opened his eyes and almost screamed in horror. He extricated himself from a form that had suddenly shrunk from a hard, muscular frame to one of curves and silken skin, felt that the hands gripping his head were light rather than heavy and sure. Sitting back on his haunches, his face was as he stared at Cersei in his bed.

Cersei. Beautiful. Golden. His mirror. His other half. She sat up and began to reach for him. Startled, Jaime jerked back. _She never reached for me. It was always me seeking her. Liar. Liar. Liar._

“You would not come to me now?” Though she spoke softly, there was no mistaking the demand in her silky voice. A voice that had once gasped and whispered things that made him hard and mad with lust. The voice that now felt like a worm creeping into his heart and consume it while it was red and beat. 

“You should leave.” Jaime couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. He snatched the blanket and covered himself, shame and anger making him flush. “I don’t want her to see you. I can’t have you staining her.”

“Who, Jaime?” Cersei, sleek and graceful, shifted to her knees. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the ends teasing the pale pink tips of her breasts. The position was seductive but he knew now. The bitterness curling her mouth did not cut into her beauty. “We belong together. When you’re inside me, I am whole—“

“Stop!” Jaime shouted. “No more! Get out of here! Get out—“

A loud, booming explosion suddenly shook the walls and the floor. Jaime whirled around sharply, staring at the door. Cersei remained in bed, indifferent.

“Jaime.” She spoke with command. He was helpless. He had no choice but to turn to her. Still on her knees, she said, “Come to me. In this bed nothing can touch you. Only me. We belong together. We will die together—“

“No!” Jaime stepped closer to the door just as another explosion rocked the room. Dust rained from the ceiling. He coughed and staggered to the door.

“You will leave me?” Cersei snarled. “You will leave me again?”

Jaime turned and poured all the anger and betrayal in his next words. “You didn’t want me. You never loved me. You pushed me away.”

“Is that what you think? Jaime, I love you—“

“No! _You don’t get to say that to me._ Where’s Brienne? What did you do?” As Cersei smirked, Jaime felt something in him die inside. “Where is she? What did you do?”

Cersei flopped back on the bed and spread her legs. “Come, Jaime. Forget everything. You and I are that’s left. We are free. You would leave me now?”

Her words stirred in his blood, making it churn, making it flow, a violent river in his veins. Jaime, breathing fast, not knowing what he was doing, began to step toward her. Cersei looked at him with approval, as if he were a dog obeying his master’s command. 

Until another explosion shattered all the glass from the windows and sent them flying. Cersei covered her face and screamed. Shaking, Jaime threw himself against the wall before turning to reach for the door.

“If you leave you will never have me again!” She shouted, her voice thick yet also brittle with rage, betrayal and desperation. “Jaime! Jaime! Don’t do this to us!” 

Jaime looked back at his sister. Beautiful. Enraged. Tears streamed from her eyes, her slim body shook with all the emotions seizing her. He should go to her. Hold her in his arms and keep her together, keep her in one piece. Stitch her back one kiss at a time. Rouse her back to life with every caress. Remind her she was alive with every stroke of his cock. He still longed for her. Wanted her moan against his tongue. Her softness. He should go to her. Even now he was compelled toward this old habit, once done without another thought, once given willingly because he loved her. Once.

_Once._

Jaime threw open the door and stepped out into the light. It seared him first through the eyeballs then his mouth, his throat, until he was burning all over. Oh gods. He could hear the flames eating at his skin. _He was a man on fire._

He screamed. 

“Shut up or I’ll have your tongue sliced off and have you wear it around your neck like a necklace.” Came a soft, deceptively soothing, feminine voice. Jaime, shaking off the lingering fingers of a nightmare, weakly turned toward the sound. 

Brienne’s mother.

Her hair was limp and pale blond, but thick and cascading in waves down the ends. She was tall but lean, sylph-like where her daughter was muscular. She stood over him, peering down with barely-concealed disgust in her cold eyes. Not Brienne’s eyes. Brienne’s were blue, like shimmering sapphires. She must get them from her father, he thought, finding comfort that there was little to none of this woman in Brienne.  
He was burning from the inside. He felt sticky and hot, too hot, and every inch of his body was riddled with pain. He groaned, curling into a ball.

“This is no good, Dr. Lannister. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for days. I say you are well-rested and fit for questioning.” Jaime felt rather than saw her turn to someone. “Get him to table.”

Strong, rough hands snatched him from the cot and unceremoniously threw him toward the table in question. Jaime, shocked at the electricity suddenly zooming down his numb legs, staggered before falling to the floor. He was fevered, he realized. Fevered and disoriented for who knows how long. Trailing behind this was a name that sent his gut twisting. 

“Brienne.” He whispered as he was yanked and shoved down a chair. He whimpered at the pain radiating from his right shoulder. 

“She lives.” The woman told him, dragging a chair to position across the table from him. “It depends on you how long she lives.”

Jaime looked at her through the dirt-encrusted locks of his hair. “She’s your daughter.”

“A consequence ordered by my handler, that is all.” 

“You’re a piece of shit.”

He saw her nod. Then a fist came out of nowhere and slammed onto Jaime’s cheek. Blood sprayed from his mouth.  
It wasn’t anything new. It still hurt, though. 

As Jaime coughed and struggled to right himself again, the woman said. “You downloaded medical files, Dr. Lannister, rendering the Wildfyre smart bullets useless. “ She tilted her head as she looked at him. “I want them back.”

“You mean Viserys Targaryen wants them back.” Jaime retorted, rubbing his cheek then his jaw. Some of his teeth felt a little loose. He shrugged. “There’s no need to lie—uh, what’s your name again? I can’t be stuck calling you Brienne’s Mother. You don’t look like her. The freckles, probably. And the height.” 

“My husband and dear daughter know me as Alysanne.” The woman grimaced, clearly hating the name. “But my name is Wenda.”

“World’s dumbest name.”

“But I’m the one walking out of here alive, Dr. Lannister. Unless you start being smart, you and Brienne will be left down here to rot.”

“What is this place?” Jaime made a face. “It smells of decaying whores and bleeding souls.” 

Her smile did not reach her eyes. “The files, Dr. Lannister. For your sake and that girl’s, you’d better have them. My men searched you but found nothing.”

Which meant they’d searched Brienne too. Jaime saw red, his fists bunching at the thought of those goons touching Brienne and doing gods know what else. He shot to his feet, momentarily powered by the need to protect and avenge Brienne for what they have surely done to her. It was sickening. He wanted to throw up. Wenda looked at him with boredom so he knew that the menace he had meant to convey was only in his mind. Defeated, he sank heavily on the chair.

“It must make you feel so smart to be surrounded by men who are bigger idiots than slugs.”

“It must make you feel so smart, thinking your wit would set you and Brienne free.” Wenda retorted. “She may have come from me, Dr. Lannister, but she’s not mine. That ugly whore is an abomination and it’s only right the world is rid of her. But if you cooperate,” she said, her voice shifting from disgust to silk again, “she will be allowed to live. So. The files. What did you do to them?”

“I want to see her first.” Was she feeling as rotten as he was? Jaime suspected he had been beaten until he was completely knocked out. He remembered the shootout, Catelyn Stark going after them with guns blazing, Oberyn Martell right behind her. He must have lost consciousness then, and while he was down, Wenda’s men had their fun with him. 

_They will get theirs, Brienne. All who has hurt you will know the mercy of a lion._

“Bargaining, are we? You really are that arrogant.”

“I have something you want.” Of course he didn’t. The flash drive was still in what passed for Brienne’s cleavage. “You get it if you do what I want.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then either Brienne and I are left here to rot as you say or we leave in body bags. I don’t care.” Jaime said with a shrug. “You’re messing with something you don’t understand. Who would want to live in a world that’s seen Wildfyre?”

“I know what you’re doing, Dr. Lannister.” Wenda told him, nodding with approval. “Well. I may be vicious but I’m not unreasonable. But I’ll make a deal with you. If you don’t do as I say my men will chop off her fingers. For every refusal. Like the one you just made.”

Before Jaime could fully understand what she was saying, Wenda cocked her head toward one of her men at the door. He nodded and stepped out. 

Three seconds later, Brienne’s screams flooded Jaime’s ears.


	56. A Catalogue of the Living and the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was far from attractive and was now more so with the grotesque asymmetry of her face—her left cheek sunken from where bone should be holding up muscle and flesh. Her lower left eyelid hung loose and appeared to be melting into her face.
> 
> _____  
> First Major Character Death in three, two, one. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of April 11, I've extended the chapter a bit. I do agree--it was short and I wasn't satisfied myself. Just added a few lines. Thank you for your comments!

Four days after the standoff at Targaryen Industries

Jon swept past the doors of the hospital. Another WCA facility hiding in plain sight, access required a series of pass codes before reaching the lobby. 

He had had very little sleep, hardly anything to eat and way too much coffee. He was functioning on adrenaline and his reserves were running low—he had almost caused a pile-up in the freeway as he drove here. Sleep eluded him and his mind and body were too wired, too tensed. Oberyn had offered him sleeping pills but he worried about missing the latest developments.

Things were a mess at WCA—and that was putting it mildly. They were on lockdown until further notice by President Tyrell herself, who was recovering nicely from her assassination attempt at the Targareyn Industries masque ball. He would be appearing before her in a couple hours, hence why Oberyn had pressed him to take the sleeping pills. Jon told him to shove it. He cared little if he stood before the president rumpled and unkempt. It didn’t feel right to rest, to sleep, when members of their team had no choice but to do it for the rest of their lives.

By the time Jon, Daario, Jaqen, Tormund and Bronn have reached the thirtieth floor of the Research & Development section of Targaryen Industries, they were too late. Glass was all over, man-sized holes gouged from the walls. The wind had snatched off their feet and threw to the ground several of the hostiles but not Wenda. She had gotten away, according to Oberyn, who was slumped against the pillar and bleeding from a gunshot to his collarbone and another on his leg. Catelyn was not in good shape either—she was sprawled facedown on the floor in a growing river of blood. She had taken two in the chest. 

Robb, surrounded and unarmed, had been shot right between the eyes. His eyes were cold and blue when Jon found him. 

It was far from over.

After Oberyn was stitched up, he recounted that Wenda had shot at the walls, opening them. The violent gust of evening air at thirty stories high yanked those closest off their feet and toward the windows. Jaime Lannister was among them. Seeing this, Brienne had thrown herself out and snapped open her harness. The chute had either opened too late, or it wasn’t enough to hold two bodies—either way, Jon could only imagine how she and Jaime had dropped like rocks before crashing on the roof of a car. This was where they found Brienne, unconscious. Broken. 

Jaime Lannister was nowhere in sight. 

Oberyn, refusing to stay in bed, had to be yelled at that he was useless as he was in the field. And they weren’t going to do anything since they couldn’t go against the direct orders of the president. Nothing obvious, anyway—Jon had Bronn take him to Hot Pie to secure the services of the latter to locate Wenda and her associates. He had Jaqen, Daario and Tormund keep surveillance on Viserys Targaryen, Boros Blount, Gregor Clegane and Mandon Moore. Oberyn was tasked to keep watch over Catelyn until she awakened. The bullet had punctured her lungs and missed her heart by mere millimetres. She was alive but had to be put under a medically-induced coma to recover. 

Oberyn took to this responsibility easily. He got out of the way when Ned Stark arrived. Stoic and grim, Catelyn’s husband betrayed no sign of grief at her condition, hovering between life and death, and on the death of their son. He gave Ned time with his wife so he went to Brienne.

As he had come to doing, he took several deep breaths while standing right outside Brienne’s door. He had been the first to see her when she was wheeled into ICU after her seven-hour surgery. The gruesomeness of her current condition was all too real, one that he couldn’t forget yet always hit him hard upon setting eyes on her. Her appearance was not for the fainthearted.

Finished with his deep breathing exercise, Oberyn turned the doorknob and walked in. He paused, staring at the too-still figure on the bed.

Brienne had been cleaned up and was made as comfortable as possible. But the wreck of her body prevented nurses from doing anything further from rubbing the blood that matted her hair and made her into a redhead with a bad dye job for several hours, as well as the cuts and wounds on her face, arms and legs. The bruises surrounding her eyes were the colour of purple so deep it was almost black; her nose, probably breaking upon impact, had to be hastily repaired so that a tube could be inserted for when feeding her. 

Her left cheek was smashed. What used to be firm muscle and bone under it was now a hollow, limp thing. She would also need reconstructive surgery here once she was fully recovered. Her neck was broken and at least several ribs. She had opened her recent stab wound, contributing to the massive blood loss. Oberyn remembered the horror that swept through him as he could only watch with growing dread and choking helplessness at her slumped form on the car. Her breath was a wheezing, laboured sound that turned his stomach because at that moment, he was listening to the Stranger’s sure approach. Then there was the blood dripping from her wounds down the windows of the car before plopping heavily to the ground. When Jon, Jaqen and Bronn came running after what felt like a long time, they found him bent over behind the car and groaning as another well of vomit exploded from his mouth. 

He sat down on the stool by her legs. Brienne’s pale, folded arms was a showcase of scratches and cuts, old scars. The doctors had spent hours removing any shard of glass embedded in them. From the loose, gaping neckline of her gown, the bandage of a bullet wound to her chest peeked through. 

Unlike Catelyn with her medically-induced coma, Brienne had not woken up since her fall. The doctors swore she was stable, despite her injuries. Oberyn would believe them once she opened her eyes. Once awake, Brienne was in for another haul. Trauma. PTSD. Therapy. Guilt. He knew she and Robb were close. 

Oberyn had brought a worn paperback with him and was struggling to read with one arm when Jon entered the room. The two men nodded at each other as Jon closed the door behind him. 

He looked at Brienne.

“Any changes?”

“She was moaning and moving a while ago.” Oberyn said. “I got the nurse. It may be she will wake soon. It may be nothing. Only Brienne knows.”

Jon nodded. “If you need to go do something, I’ll cover you.”

Oberyn was grateful. “Thanks a lot. I couldn’t make myself go to the toilet because I didn’t want her to wake up alone. When it happens, you know.” 

He stood up and left. Jon went to her. 

Brienne was so pale. Gone was her healthy, flushed complexion. Against the white of the pillow, she had a sickly, gray pallor. She lay so still he would think her dead if not for the jagged blips on the monitor. There was still dried blood on her hair. She was far from attractive and was now more so with the grotesque asymmetry of her face—her left cheek sunken from where bone should be holding up muscle and flesh. Her lower left eyelid hung loose and appeared to be melting into her face. A tape helped it keep in place and shut—which she would no longer need once she got the procedure done. 

There was a long gash on the right side of her neck—the doctors suspected it was glass and had missed her jugular by a millimetre or two. Millimetres, the shortest distances—they were all that kept Brienne and Catelyn alive. Jon glanced at the monitor again, wondering if it always played that soft, beeping, monotonous sound. Her skin was warm in some parts, clammy in others. Stable vital signs, the doctors have said. But she looked so weak. So fragile. Brienne Tarth was strong, the Warrior. He didn’t recognize the women breathing softly before him. 

The door opened. Jon glanced briefly at the tired-looking but pretty redhead doctor letting herself in. She nodded at him. They had spoken briefly a few times. Her name was Dr. Ygritte Wildling.

“Agent Snow.” She shot him a wan smile before nodding at Brienne. “You are good friends with her.”

“We trust each other.” Jon answered as he turned to look back at Brienne.

Ygritte reached for the patient file tucked in a compartment at the foot of the bed. She checked the monitor and made some notes on it. As she wrote, she asked, “Any luck reaching her dad?”

That was another thing. Selwyn Tarth was not answering his phone. Given how the WCA was being closely guarded again, he asked Jaqen to make a few inquiries regarding the whereabouts of Brienne’s father. 

“Soon.” Was all he could say. 

“I understand your worry over Agent Tarth,” Ygritte told him, “but something tells me she’s not the sort to easily go away. She’ll make the Stranger bleed if he dares to try take her.” As Jon glanced at her, she shrugged. “Look, I don’t know her. But you don’t come across people who survive a fall from thirty stories high with those injuries. The impact slammed her brain to her skull.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m saying that when Agent Tarth wakes up, and she is, there’s going to be a whole new set of problems. But she survived. She’s a fighter.” Ygritte nodded at her patient. “She has to be.”

“When she wakes up, what could she expect?” Jon was already imagining it. He knew Brienne very well. She would shrug off her PTSD. She would explode upon realizing her unsteady hand when holding a gun. Sleepless nights. Hyperventilating. Panic attacks. Death was the only way out for WCA agents but on rare occasions, it wasn’t. Yet the former was everyone’s ideal option. To die for Westeros. An unsung hero.

“Given her injuries she’ll be needing therapy. Especially with her right leg. She’ll have to undergo training to an extent, for a few months, before she’s cleared to return to the field. There’s also the possibility that she’s handicapped now so she has no choice.” Ygritte didn’t have to state what it meant. Jon knew.

“Handicapped how?”

“When a brain bounces against the skull, sometimes it can lead to blindness. Temporary but it’s never know for how long. You’ll also have to deal with disorientation, nightmares, PTSD—“

Ygritte continued to rattle off the list as Jon laced his fingers through Brienne’s. 

“She’s going to need people she trusts around her, Agent Snow. People like you. A friend.” 

“You make it sound as if she’s going to be completely helpless.”

“She might be. And she’ll hate to ask for help.” Ygritte couldn’t help smiling. “I admit I’ve heard of her. What’s that they said—head that could smash cinderblocks in two.” 

Jon turned back to Brienne. “She _is_ that.”

“Is her father her only family?”

“Yeah.”

“He should be found soon. I mean it.”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

"No you're not."

"We will find him." 

Ygritte put the patient file back in the compartment at the foot of the bed. This time, Jon was watching her. 

“What are you not telling me, Dr. Wildling?”

She met his eye. “You’re not family, Agent Snow.”

“At the moment what little she has is missing. I don’t know when we’ll find him. If we find him.” Jon caught himself. He continued to hold Brienne’s limp hand. “Whatever it is, I know for a fact Brienne would rather hear it from a friend than a stranger.”

Ygritte glanced at the door, clearly wanting to escape. Jon shook his head.

“Agent Snow, it’s not right.”

“Fuck what’s right. This is not right.” He gestured sharply at Brienne’s prone form, looking surprisingly small in the bed swaddled in blankets. 

Conflict was in Ygritte's face. “She’s pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we know it wasn't Brienne screaming in the previous chapter. Who could it be? And this chapter occurs simultaneously as the one right before it. So given Jaime's injuries, he was knocked out for a couple of days too. Fell thirty floors down on a chute that either opened too late or couldn't carry him and Brienne together. Holy hells. Jaime and Brienne are badass! 
> 
> Yes. Robb's dead. It's still unclear if the bullet that killed him came from Catelyn's or Oberyn's gun or Wenda and her team. 
> 
> With all the unprotected banging Jaime and Brienne have been doing, that's the only math there is.
> 
> I named Ygritte as Ygritte Wild because she's a Wildling! 
> 
> AND WHERE'S SELWYN?!?


	57. Blood of the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyday he looked at her like this.
> 
> Everyday she waited for him to ask for forgiveness. Or death.
> 
> Everyday he denied her. 
> 
> When would she stop fooling herself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violent and degrading scene up ahead. Read at your own risk. 
> 
> READ IT AT YOUR OWN RISK.
> 
> Don't say I didn't tell you twice.

_Pain is no longer the Stranger._

_Pain is not the Stranger._

_Not the Stranger_

_Pain._

_Pain is where everything ends and begins. Like a fire. In the burning is the cleansing._

_Fire._

_Fire and blood._

_I am fire. I am blood._

_I am the blood of the dragon._

“I am the blood of the dragon, the blood of the dragon, the blood of the dragon,” Daenerys Targaryen whispered, yet each word was spoken with the fervour and passion of a prayer. “Pain is the fire that cleanses. Pain is where everything ends and begins. Pain is everything. The end and the beginning—“

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching her door halted the speech she would repeat to herself when going through another level of pain that had gone beyond Seven Hells a lifetime ago. Gasping, she forced herself up from her bed in order to crouch into a tight ball at the dark corner of the room.

The door banged open and Viserys swept in, blond and beautiful in that savage, terrifying way. Daenerys hugged her knees to her chest, her violet eyes big as the door shut behind him and he walked to her, easily finding her in the dark. Her eyes drifted to her knees as he knelt in front of her, looking at her with the concern that one put on before the final death strike.

Everyday he looked at her like this.

Everyday she waited for him to ask for forgiveness. Or death.

Everyday he denied her. 

__

“My dear, sweet, little sister,” Viserys crooned, tender as a slithering snake while taking her bandaged hands in his. Daenerys flinched and struggled to keep them on her person but he tugged them toward him. Tremors exploded around her body as she remembered what had happened the last time he held her hands. It began with a kiss. A sweet kiss before he turned to one his men, who approached with a hammer.

Tears fell from her eyes as he kissed her, the touch loving around her cracked nails, tongue licking the blood that had dried and crusted around the bandages. Her fingers hurt, flinging her to another level beyond Seven Hells. 

The pleas stabbed her in the throat. But she knew that he would only relish them and give her exactly what she begged him not to do.

What happened to her protective brother?

How could he do the things he’d done?

Over and over?

 _To her. _His sister. His blood.__

How? Why?

“Dear Dany,” Viserys whispered. “You are trembling like a little bird. It’s only me.”

_Yes. It is you._

Daenerys couldn’t stop the cry escaping her as he suddenly jerked her to her feet and dragged her toward the sliver of sunlight slipping through the glass, steel-clad windows. She didn’t dare look at Viserys though she knew what she would see was a mirror of her: silver-blond hair, violet eyes. His smile where her lips were split and bleeding.

She closed her eyes as he unbuttoned her dress before it was loose enough to fall the rest of the way. Viserys’ breath, smelling of cigars and wine, hit her right in the face and she bit her lip. She continued shivering. Even her heart shook in its cavity and she willed for it to keep shaking and shaking until it tore itself away and killed her. Today. Maybe today the gods would hear her and actually grant one of the many prayers and wishes she had been storming them with since Viserys locked her up and his abuse took a turn toward abomination.

“What a fine woman you are,” he breathed, his hands cupping her breasts. She was stiff as he caressed her nipples, froze even more when his fingers tangled in the hairs of her cunt and sought her clit. He traced the narrow width of her waist, coasted over her full, flaring hips. He pinched her fleshy bottom painfully as he forced a hard kiss on her mouth. She stiffened as he raped her mouth, his tongue pushing inside as if to choke her. He pinched the cheeks of her buttocks hard enough to bruise. 

“You are mine, Dany, yes?” His hands returned to her breasts and gripped them.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. 

He pinched her nipples.

“Yes.” She sobbed.

“Louder, sister. I didn’t hear you.” He tugged and pinched her nipples as if to tear them off.

His motions forced her on tiptoes. She wept at the fire lancing through her. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I’m yours.” She whispered.

Viserys’ face assumed a crueller mask. Panicking, she fell to her knees and wept, “Yes! I’m yours, Viserys. Only yours. Only yours!”

How she hated clinging to his knees, pleading with him. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t take more pain. He had her fingers smashed a few days ago then raped her so viciously she felt as if she’d been turned inside and out and no longer knew herself, no longer any of herself. She cried openly now, her waist-length hair falling over her face, her shoulders, toward his booted feet. As whimpers issued out of her throat, her ears picked up the dull rasp of a zipper being lowered.

Viserys yanked at her hair, raising her face forcefully. Wet, red-rimmed eyes stared up at him. He smiled and his other hand reached for his cock. 

Another wave of tears was coming but Daenerys, with what little strength that remained, steeled herself. She had to. Her mouth opened, wet and threaded with saliva. Barely had her lips parted when Viserys slammed his cock inside.

He held her head so it she was tilted at a painful, high angle that had her choking as he fucked her mouth savagely. Her hands, useless with their broken fingers, flailed uselessly. The force of his thrusts had her bare knees scraping against the floor. Over the gagging saltiness of his skin and pre-cum, she heard the sound of her skin being torn as it rubbed hard and relentlessly on the rough cement. The floor warmed with the slide of blood and she groaned. 

“Ah. Yes, Daenerys. Yes.” Viserys muttered above her before suddenly yanking her to her feet. She didn’t dare spit nor rub the back of her hand across her mouth as he shoved her down the bed. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t fight him this time, she hadn’t fought him in a long time, but if she spoke the cum he had left in her would spill and he would know she hadn’t swallowed. Viserys had threatened to knock out of her teeth if she did it again.

Crying, she forced herself to swallow as he attached her wrists to manacles on the bed. Her stomach roiled.

He sucked and bit on her nipples, tearing new holes into skin that had healed. She could never get used to this pain and though she knew she shouldn’t, for her own good, because pain got him off, but she screamed and struggled. He rose on his knees and backhanded her, furious, before he turned her on her stomach. Blood streamed from her nipples. He slapped her on the buttocks, ordering her to rise on all fours.

Viserys fingers dug in her dry cunt and he hissed his displeasure. She pressed her face in the pillow, drowning her sobs in it as his fingers shoved hard, scraping her unready, resisting walls. He whined at how dry she was. Did she not want him?

Daenerys, willing herself to go away far inside, whispered, “Please.”

“Do not make me doubt you,” He warned her. Then he turned her over again she was on her back—the manacles were long enough to allow this movement. Her nipples throbbed as blood continued to flow. Her hair was in her face and she was grateful. It was a small measure of mercy. If he saw her tears—

Viserys spread her legs, grinned. It wasn’t the face of evil. Nor of the Stranger.

_It was her brother. _Her brother.__

Suddenly, he spat in her cunt.

She closed her eyes and began to drift away.

__The Seven have mercy. Take me now._ _

Viserys spat another mouthfulof saliva in her cunt. She was slowly receding from the horrible, terrible reality being done to her but she still felt it—sticky—smelled it—it stank of his cigars. 

His cock, a blunt, cruel thing, began to slide inside her.

He pumped viciously, once again scraping her as she was only moist at the front of her opening yet still dry and unprepared inside. His hand wrapped around her mouth, bruising her jaw and trapping the cries every push of his cock pulled out of her. Her eyes blinked rapidly, the tears sliding down the sides of her temple. Viserys could not, _should_ not see her tears. Despite the soft light on her face, he was blind with madness.

From somewhere far away, she heard him grunt then expel his semen in her. Limp and bruised from another encounter, her eyes were blank, soulless when he yanked her to her knees, forced her mouth open and ordered her to clean him up. Her hair hid her face but she still had to take him deep. He hissed when her throat stiffened and refused him further entry. A smack on her head—strong enough for her to see stars—sent her on her back. Again, he forced her mouth open. His thrusts were brutal and would bruise her throat from the inside.

Just when she thought Viserys had degraded her enough, he would unleash another method more horrifying. When it was over, she was coughing over the side of the bed, revolted still from the cum flooding her throat. He hit her on the head again and snarled that if she did it again, if she so much as thought as rejecting him, he, her brother, she would wake the dragon and the last thing she would know of this earth was his cock tearing at her from the inside. As he spoke, he rained a series of blows on her stomach, her face, her breast. A fist to her head knocked her to the floor and she found blackness. She surrendered to it but Viserys grabbed a glass of water from her bedside and threw it to her face. _Even this he would deny her._ He turned her on her back and jabbed the tip of a knife at her throat. She held her breath. 

The sheets smelled of blood and semen, and were slick with violence. 

“I will let the guards fuck you if shame me again,” he warned her, pushing the blade and releasing small drops of blood. "Or have you forgotten?" 

Every night she relived it. Viserys veiled in darkness as he commanded two guards to violate her. She shook her head.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I will never forget.”

He smiled and kissed her on the cheek. She wanted to cry, wanted to cry for the brother that used to be tender, who used to protect her. _What happened?_ She wanted to rage. _Why? How can you hurt me like this?_

“Perhaps my seed will take this time, sister. Cruel for you to be the only heir.” Viserys said, his kiss turning violent and his hands once again cruel. “And you would share with your dear brother, wouldn’t you? Family is everything. In the end I am all you have, Dany, like it or not. No one will want you once it’s found out what we’ve done. You're a disgusting little whore who spread her legs for her brother.”

His laughter lingered long after he left. Daenerys, hugged her knees to her chest and resumed her prayer. Her voice was broken. She continued to bleed. 

“I am the blood of the dragon, the blood of the dragon, the blood of the dragon. Pain is the fire that cleanses. Pain is where everything ends and begins. Pain is everything. The end and the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had serious doubts whether I should go this far. Viserys dying early in the books spared Daenerys on how much more violent he could be and that's what I went with. Apologies to anyone I've offended. This was very difficult to write.


	58. Secret Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jaime must be returned. He’s the only brother I have. I wouldn’t know what to do—“ when she cried, it was with hiccups and violent coughing. It hurt, to be without Jaime. She was also angry that he had chosen not to come back to her, and now he probably never will.   
> ______
> 
> Another sensitive scene ahead. Mind the tags and READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

The situation at WCA was worse this time around. Agents and analysts were allowed inside but their computers and other communication services were heavily monitored and every hour a system sweep shut them down as it checked if any information had been downloaded or illegally sent through channels. The stricter protocols and round-the-clock surveillance was the equivalent of the slow tightening of a noose. 

That damnable Howland Reed remained the director and Jon, the only senior agent left, was tasked with overseeing the normal run of the black ops division. Except that this time, `normal’ was updating Howland daily. This was on top of working around the bureaucratic hell unleashed on their group, reining in the short tempers all around, and checking on the condition of Catelyn and Brienne. A week had passed since the attack on Targaryen Industries and the two women remained unconscious. And because things would always get worse, Selwyn Tarth had vanished without a trace.

Jon informed one of the analysts he was going out for lunch. He pulled on his coat, ignoring the pointed stare of one of the agents assigned to keep watch. He knew he was in the (s)hit list and Howland Reed was just waiting for one misstep before he got President Tyrell to order the division be dissolved. The president had not been pleased about the attempt on her life and the fact that no clear answers could be provided was driving her to send more security and agents combing through every inch of their office. Jon flat-out told Howland during one of those fucking updates that if the Tyrell bat wanted answers, she should step away and let them do their job. 

Howland accused him of insubordination and threatened to not only confine him to a desk job but send a fucking suit to run the division.

Jon underwent the necessary security measures that would enable him to leave the office. As he strolled in the lobby, he made an innocent sweep of his coat, ran his fingers through his hair. He felt a suspicious, tiny bump in his coat and pulled it out. A fucking tracking device. Palming it, he dropped it in the coat pocket of a woman walking past him and whining on her cellphone.   
Knowing that CCTV cameras were recording him, Jon decided to walk out onto the street rather than the parking lot. In the crowd, with the tracking device gone, it would be more difficult following him. He pulled out a phone from his pocket and punched in a code. 

He could just imagine the guys in the van scrambling to hack into a phone that wasn’t in their records. Jon resumed walking and pretended to talk on the phone, although he was listening for a series of clicks and taps. Then, quickly, he tossed the phone in the trash and continued walking.

After five blocks, he spied the car waiting for him at the corner. His strides remained easy and casual until he reached it and opened the passenger’s side. Jaqen Hagar, sitting behind the wheel, nodded.

“Let’s go,” Jon said.

 

 

Cersei threw her head back and screamed.

Her release began as a red maelstrom from deep in her womb, swirling faster and more violently with each passing second until it surged through her veins like wildfyre unleashed. The man fucking her began to thrust in quick, hard strokes, a battering ram intending to breach as deeply into her cunt as possible. It was painful and her nails tore at the silk sheets under her. But she was powerless, in this moment, she truly was and she drank it in, powered by the pain. 

Her screams softened to moans until he collapsed on her stomach. She gave little care to the beast fucking her. Her cunt would be sore and she wouldn’t be able to walk right or sit well for days, she probably wouldn’t be able to stand either. But she took everything he gave her, and she would do it even if it killed her. She may be powerless now but between them, she was the one he served, even as his cock threatened to tear her apart.

He grunted behind her and she flinched at the hot rush of semen suddenly flooding her cunt. On and on it went. When he pulled out with a groan and collapsed on his back next to her, she didn’t dare move. Not yet. For now, she reveled in the dirty pleasure of being pumped so full of semen it was dripping down her legs in thick streams. 

Then she turned on her side and began to sit up. She went to the bathroom and there, plucked out the cervical cup. Then she washed herself clean until her cunt was cool. 

Cersei knew she was beautiful, and was the most beautiful woman in any room. Yet it was her beauty after fucking that was beyond compare: a brighter shine to her hair, luminous emerald eyes, full, creamy breasts with swollen, red nipples, a cunt that swollen red and bruised inside. Gingerly, she made her way out of the bathroom but once past the door, adopted a stride of grace, of a queen. She smirked at the man lounging in her bed, putting on a silk crimson robe before joining him in bed.  
Gregor watched her make her way to him, his dark eyes sweeping possessively up and down her body. Her nipples tightened, as they had that day she was with Tywin in welcoming the mobster to his office. Cersei did not deprive herself of pleasure, though it made her lips curl with a sneer at the idea of a lioness such as herself consorting with a lowly dog. But she accepted his invitation to dinner. He was a dog but he could provide help she needed. Cersei secured his allegiance by spreading her legs for him. He was graceless and derived a strange, disturbing joy in fucking her dirtily but her cunt was satisfied.

“That’s a pretty thing you’ve got on,” Gregor said as she sat beside him, curling slim legs under her. “I hope you’re not too attached to it because if it gets in the way of fucking, I’ll tear it off you.”

“We are grouchy, aren’t we?” She soothed him, her smile cool but she knew he thought it was teasing.

“Tywin’s not happy that your brother has been working for the government all along and is now in the hands of terrorists.” Gregor said, frowning. He was not a handsome man—with his dark, coarse features and muscular, meaty frame, he cut a terrifying figure. His cock was thicker than Cersei’s wrist. She had to use half a tube of lube so he can stick his cock in and fuck her. Despite this, she was painfully tender between the legs. 

Gregor Clegane was huge and strong, brash and uncouth—the exact opposite of her beautiful, elegant Jaime. He was a raging bull when fucking her cunt, a hungry dog when lapping up her cunt. He scared her sometimes but he was exciting and she liked that he fucked her like a whore.

“Since when is Tywin happy?” Cersei pointed out, laying her head on the pillow. Though appearing nonchalant, the mental gears in her head were beginning to turn. Jaime was alive. Jaime had chosen the government over her, his sister, his lover, his other half. 

“But Gregor,” she put a hand on his massive chest, rubbing at the curls. It was a gesture meant to convey affection. “Jaime must be returned. He’s the only brother I have. I wouldn’t know what to do—“ when she cried, it was with hiccups and violent coughing. It hurt, to be without Jaime. She was also angry that he had chosen not to come back to her, and now he probably never will. 

As she cried prettily, forcing tears out of her eyes, Gregor pressed her back on the pillows. He loomed over her, a massive, brute of a man. His hands, rough and bigger than the span of her face, touched her cheek and brushed the tears sliding down her cheeks. 

“I am lost without Jaime,” she said, speaking one of the few truths she allowed herself with him. She didn’t tell him that though he was larger than her brother, nobody fucked her like Jaime did. 

“Tywin’s charged me to find him.” Gregor said, lying down next to her. Cersei turned away, giving him her back. She remained unmoving as his thick arm wrapped around her waist. “I will find him and bring him back for you.”

Her nipples tightened at the thought of Jaime coming back. “You are a good man.”

He touched her hip through the silk. “Now. . .about us. And Tywin knowing.”

Cersei had learned not to laugh about this. Of course Gregor Clegane, one of her father’s many lap dogs, thought that not only was their romance forbidden but also a romance. 

What would he do, she thought, if he finds out I only need him to relieve an itch? That I only ask him to come over when others couldn’t?

“Tywin is unreasonable. He won’t understand.” She tightened his arm around her waist. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He kissed her. She bit back another guffaw.

Summoning what little acting skill she had, she deplored, “Father means for me to marry that Loras Tyrell. How do you say no to the son of the president, I ask you?”

“No.” 

“Don’t make fun. When Loras and I marry who will you fuck? Who will fuck you?”

“Who says you have to remain married to him?”

Cersei felt herself begin to get wet. “What do you have in mind?”

Gregor told her. He bit her ear and gripped her breasts painfully as he told her about crushing Loras’ little skull in his bare hands. A hard finger began to worm into her cunt as he described gouging out Loras’ eyes. Cersei turned to kiss him, a reward, not out of desire. But he pushed her away and suddenly shoved her on her stomach. 

Realizing what he intended, she gasped, “No.”

But that was the only protest she was able to make. Gregor Clegane quickly used his very superior strength against her by pinning her down the mattress with his bulk. As she struggled, her cunt rubbed against the sheets, leaving wet, sticky streaks on the silk. Cersei started to protest again but he grabbed the belt of her robe and used it to gag her mouth. Her eyes were wide and panicked as he rose, locking her to the bed with a heavy knee pressed to the middle of her back. She heard the scrape of a drawer opening and knew he was fetching the lube from it. Then he grabbed her wrists and pulled them towards him.

She screamed against the gag as his cock punched into her ass, the brutal strokes leaving her raw. As muffled cries and tears drifted out of her, he kept her cunt wet by jamming hard, rough fingers in it. The more she struggled, the more he pounded into her, laughing cruelly in her ear.

He was tearing her apart. 

“Your husband will love getting this,” he said in her ear, fucking her. “I’ll tie him down and gag him and have him fucked in the ass until he’s bleeding and torn and no one will recognize him as human.”

He grunted the last word and pulled out, splashing his cum on her back. Cersei winced, hating how he treated her like an animal and marked her like this yet her cunt spasmed with her own release. She rocked and rubbed against the sheets, revelling in the sick and dirty pleasure just visited upon her. Jaime, she almost screamed when Gregor suddenly pushed three, thick fingers in her. She quickly tightened around it, her movements frantic and desperate. Her gasps filled the room. Her arms flopped back to her sides. 

When she finally caught her breath and managed to face Gregor, she slapped him hard across the face. 

Then she threw herself at him and commanded he fuck her again.

 

It was an old building, condemned by the city government and awaiting the final paperwork for it to be demolished. Located on the outskirts of the city, it saw very little traffic and was one of the few buildings still standing on a deserted lot that was supposed to be a real estate hub years ago. 

Jaqen parked inside the building; two, non-descript sedans were also parked there. Jon spied Daario, Bronn and Tormund waiting for them. As he and Jaqen slid out, he said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“This place is like hunting a needle in the haystack,” Bronn said with a shrug.

They stood looking at each other, each looking more grim than the last. Daario asked, “How are Catelyn and Brienne?”

“The same.” Jon replied.

Grimmer faces all around.

“I had Hot Pie look up on Alysanne Tarth,” Tormund began. He glanced at Daario. “Turns out that she and Wenda are the same person.”

“She was one of the senior officers when I was with Sons of Harpy,” Daario explained to them. “She was away on some deep cover mission when I joined and I didn’t see her as much. She goes by the alias White Fawn.”

“That deep cover mission was to infiltrate WCA through Selwyn Tarth,” Tormund continued. “Brienne’s father.”

“Selwyn Tarth is a professor,” Jon pointed out.

“He was an analyst,” Tormund told him. “Specializing in languages and code-breaking. Wenda was instructed to get close to him to secure this cipher—it’s not really clear what it is, we only know it’s a sort of cipher—that he had been working on then. Then she was told to ensure his allegiance by marrying him and having a child—Brienne.”

“Hot Pie also did some hacking into the WCA,” Daario said. Jon narrowed his eyes at him. “We know she was recruited based on this article she wrote for her college newspaper. That’s part of it. WCA was aware of a Harpy spy but they weren’t sure who. Wenda’s identity was pretty much kept under wraps by the Harpy but the trickles into WCA eventually gave them a clearer picture. By the time they found out, Wenda had already faked her death and disappeared. Brienne was recruited because it’s believed she may know about her mother.”

“She was recruited for WCA to keep an eye on her,” Jon growled. “Seven Hells. Howland knew about this, didn’t he?”

“It gets worse.” Bronn told him. “This Wenda character is working with Viserys Targaryen.”

“I can not believe I’m about to top that,” Jon looked at them. “Field reports just got back. Selwyn Tarth is missing. There are signs of struggle in the house.” As everyone swore, he added, “If my hunch is right, he was taken by Wenda. For what, we don’t know. But that’s the first place I’ll look into.”

“Except that Wenda’s vanished as well,” Jaqen said. “And anything with regard to Viserys Targaryen would alert the bastards looking over our shoulders.”

“And Jaime Lannister,” Bronn said. “They probably have him too. No man walks away like that. No one can just walk away after fallling from a building. Somebody’s taken him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been curious about the loyalty of House Clegane to House Lannister. Gregor Clegane is clearly not right in the head, which could explain the absence of his moral compass in raping the queen and murdering her children. But I read somewhere that it' suspected he was acting on Tywin's orders, and as we've seen in the books and the show, Cersei's. And he obeys without question.
> 
> I went with the idea of Cersei continuing to use Gregor, getting him as an ally in a way that's always worked for her (well, not with Ned, yay). Cersei believes herself to be always in control, to be smarter than she is. But what if the tables are turned? So in this chapter, we get a glimpse of that, disturbing and terrifying as it is. I hope I didn't offend anyone too much.


	59. No One To Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Westeros, Jaime had turned away from his principles to protect it.
> 
> He left Cersei. He let her take away their son.
> 
> He lost Tyrion.
> 
> He had condemned Brienne to the cruellest fate of all: mindless torture where death was the only escape. _Brienne,_ who had given him bliss in this time of war. Brienne who thought of nothing when _giving,_ when giving _to him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sensitive scene coming up. Skip the chapter if you must.
> 
> You've been warned.
> 
> Chapter 60 will be up in a few hours.

As far as Jaime was concerned, he had been locked up for years. It felt like years. The darkness that surrounded him. The daily torture he was subjected to. His entire body was all bruises and broken bones being that he hurt everywhere. Daily beatings he could take. But it was the sick twists to getting him to start singing that had made him wish for the Stranger.

The first day, Wenda had forced him to listen to Brienne’s screams as her fingers were chopped off. He heard it through the walls—the sickening slam of metal over bone. He had raged and attempted to get out, to get to her but Wenda had him bound and forced to listen to one pained cry after another.

The second day, his fingernails were pulled off. 

The third day, he was once again forced to listen to Brienne hit and beaten up. 

“You only have to tell us what you did to the database, Dr. Lannister,” Wenda would tell him “Tell us and we’ll let you go.”  
“The fuck you will,” he retorted, still sarcastic despite the pain.

Since the third day, he had been forced to eat off the ground, drink piss, beaten up some more. It seemed they had stopped hurting Brienne to get to him since it didn’t work—he couldn’t let himself think of her possible dark fate, couldn’t let them see that she was the dent in his armour by asking about her. The moment he told the truth about the database—that it was in a flash drive tucked in Brienne’s dress—they were goners. Her forgiveness was moot but he hoped someday she understood that his silence kept her alive. 

But how long he could keep his mouth shut he truly did not know. Did Robb Stark not know who took them? Were they looking for them?

Was everyone dead?

He couldn’t go there. 

The door swung open with a bang. Jaime squinted at the sudden blast of light searing his vision, a hand flinging up protectively. “Take him,” he heard Wenda say. Two sets of heavy, booted footsteps stormed into the room then rough hands yanking him from the bed. 

A grunt popped out of his mouth as they threw him to the floor. His vision blackened for a second or two as pain exploded from his knees upon impact. Then they were pulling him up and pushing him, nudging him roughly with the butts of their rifles or hitting him until he stumbled to the door. 

Used to darkness for a while now, he shrank back, wincing at the pale light blasting right into his eyeballs but he was hit on the shoulder and ordered to keep moving forward.

Starved, dehydrated and in a world of never-ending pain, it didn’t hit him at first. When it did, he froze.

They were going to execute him.

Seven fucking hells he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

Weak and half-mad with hunger and pain, Jaime used his body to shove the man on his right towards a wall. The slam of bone against wall was a sound so satisfying until he was introduced to the hard, blunt edge of a rifle. Jaime was struck across the face and he crashed to the ground.

“What’s taking so long?” It was Wenda, sounding as if speaking from the other end of the hall.

“Dr. Lannister thought he could escape,” came the grunting reply of someone above him. Something blunt and hard kicked him on the ribs. “Get up or I’ll smash your teeth in.”

Jaime, panting, blinking against the pale spots dancing before him, muttered, “I’ll still be prettier than you, whoever you are.”

“Now.” Wenda growled.

He was hit again, from his right, which meant the guy he’d struck had recovered. They pushed and dragged him towards where Wenda was waiting, a crooked smirk on her face. She stared at Jaime as if he were mud.

“Get him there. Tie him up. Make sure he doesn’t get any more stupid ideas.”

He was past caring as he was shoved on a metal chair, followed by the metallic clicks of handcuffs that bound him. Since his head was bowed, the brightness of the room didn’t hit him until he raised his head and the overhanging fluorescent seared through his eyes again. A groan and he ripped his eyes away from the orb but a hard hand went behind his head and yanked at his hair.

“What else do you intend to do to me?” He managed to croak at Wenda. “You’re never getting the database.”

“There is not much else to do to you, Dr. Lannister. But,” and she stared at the mirror wall in front of them. “Maybe you can just sit back and watch. See things our way, yes?”

She patted him on the cheek, making him wince. Then she pushed him away and directed his attention to the mirror. A chill crawled up Jaime’s spine as lights came on from the other side of the mirror. 

And Talisa Maegyr, tears streaming down her cheeks, looked at him.

Behind her, a masked figure trailed the tip of a gleaming knife blade up and down her delicate jaw before jamming it right against her pulse.

“No,” Jaime gasped.

Wenda, leaning against the wall behind him, asked softly, “Why? Who is she?”

“Jaime,” Talisa’s big, dark brown eyes blinked, darting around. She couldn’t see him, Jaime realized. “Please help me.”

As she spoke, the masked man put an arm around her neck and pushed her against him. She gasped as the knife at her throat began to slide down to her collarbones.

Flicked at the button of her dirt-streaked blouse.

And the second.

The third.

“What the fuck are you up to do this time?” Jaime demanded.

It appeared that Talisa’s arms were bound behind her. The masked figure opened her blouse. Jaime looked away. Bile rose in his throat.

“Jaime, please. . .”

“This is an abomination,” he hissed at Wenda, making to lunge at her but his wrists were cuffed to the chair. He yanked uselessly, hate pouring from his eyes at Wenda, who watched the violence unfold in the mirror.

“No! No! Please. . .Jaime. Jaime, help me.” 

Jaime took a deep breath and looked back.

Wrenching sobs shook Talisa. Her blouse was gone. The masked figure was jabbing at her skin with the tip of the knife. The ribs. Over her heart. It circled her nipples.

Ice flowed in Jaime’s veins as he remembered a dream. The horror of it had awakened him. But it had been Cersei. Cersei laughing while she stabbed Brienne repeatedly. 

“What do you have to say, Dr. Lannister?”

Wenda’s voice was shards of glass in his ears.

“She is innocent.”

“So Brienne is not? After all, _you_ have let us have quite a lot of fun with her.” Wenda chuckled.

Jaime wanted to die at her words. Every cell in his body, every pulse called for blood and revenge but he was useless.

_“She’s your daughter.”_

Wenda’s gray eyes were cold. “She is nothing to me.”

“When I’m free of these chains—“

“When? Really, Dr. Lannister. You’ve been here for six days. You’re half-dead. No one has tried to rescue you or anything pertaining to finding your location.” Wenda actually looked giddy. “No one is coming. So you might as well give us what we want.”

“If I do that we’d be dead.”

“Brienne is less than half the woman you know her to be. She’s already there.”

His heart actually broke. He heard it, a harsh, splintering sound. She is the true innocent in all this. _The gods damn you to Seven Hells, Renly Baratheon. That better be where you are. You told me to continue with the Wildfyre._

For Westeros, Jaime had turned away from his principles to protect it.

He left Cersei. He let her take away their son.

He lost Tyrion.

He had condemned Brienne to the cruellest fate of all: mindless torture where death was the only escape. 

Brienne who had given him bliss in this time of war. Brienne who thought of _nothing_ when giving, when giving _to_ him. He, Jaime Lannister. Sister-fucker. The creator of Wildfyre. He had brought death to everyone and a lot of them deserved better.

_I never deserved you, Brienne._

Jaime turned away from Talisa’s tears and stared at Wenda.

“Let her go. She knows nothing.”

“But she was your second-in-command.”

“Let her go.”

“Or what?”

Jaime met her stare. “You’ll never get the database.”

“Hmm. Suddenly you cave? You show generosity?” Wenda glanced at the mirror and nodded. “Why don’t I trust this?”

“A Lannister always pays his debts,” Jaime drawled. “But before anything else, my assistant will be let go. She will be given protection and you won’t touch her again.”

“And here I thought you were fucking my daughter.”

“She’s not your daughter!” Jaime raged.

Unperturbed, Wenda glanced at him. “The database, Dr. Lannister. We want it.”

Jaime glared back at the mirror. The knife was leaving pink scratches on Talisa’s pale skin.

“Get her out of there!”

“The database, Dr. Lannister.”

“I want to see Brienne first. And I want your word that you’ll let us leave alive and unharmed no more.” The words rushed out of him. “Dr. Maegyr is to escorted out of here, and so will Brienne and I. We will disappear and you’ll have the database. That’s the only deal I’ll make, you treacherous fucker.”

 

“I knew he wouldn’t refuse.”

Talisa Maegyr shivered as the knife continued to slide up and down between her breasts. Her blouse hung open, stuck at her handcuffed wrists. The tears had dried in her eyes but her shoulders were tensed because of the man who still held her and played with her. Through the mirror, she saw herself gasp as he dipped the knife into her belly button. The blade was as cold as ice and very sharp. Her eyes fluttered down, following as it trailed toward the waistband of her skirt. 

“Jaime Lannister has a thing for innocents, it seems,” the man said, rubbing his covered jaw against her ear. Only holes for his eyes, nose and mouth showed his skin. His tongue licked her behind the ear, drawing another shiver from Talisa. His woollen mask scratched her cheek.

“Unless, he has a thing for you. Did he fuck you?”

_“No.”_

He bit her ear, harder than expected. Talisa froze. Since he was holding her so tightly, her movements were still restricted. 

“Is he gone?” She asked, suddenly nervous. 

“Would you like him to watch?”

As he asked, he slipped the knife in the gap between her skirt and underwear. A growl of frustration bathed her ear and she felt him loosen her skirt at the back. She swallowed as it fell, leaving her only in her underwear and stilettos. Experimentally, she tried squirming away. He held her fast.

“Who told you you’re free?”

“You’re beginning to scare me.” She didn’t tell him he had scared her other times. Lots of other times.

“Nothing scares you,” he whispered. 

Talisa held her breath as he slid the knife between her underwear and the soft curls of her cunt. “Please,” she pleaded as he flattened the knife against her clit. The cold press of the blade drew her body into a tight clutch. “Stop. Stop, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m having fun.”

“He bought it,” Talisa told him desperately. He still had the knife pressed against her cunt. Her clit was burning from the chill of the blade. “He’ll give the database. You’re scaring me. Stop it, please.”

The tears that fell were real this time.

Suddenly, the knife clattered to the floor. Talisa felt the whoosh of air as he pulled off his mask. She raised her eyes toward the mirror and met his cold, purple gaze. Her body was still trembling even as he unlocked her handcuffs. His mask lay on the floor with the knife and her skirt.

“I hate it when somebody puts the breaks on my fun,” Viserys Targaryen said. “Be thankful that rather than ripping you from cunt to throat I’d rather fuck you from cunt to throat.”

He whirled her around, the rough fabric of his sweater and his jeans abrading her breasts, all of her. She winced. Her skin would be red and sore if he kept at it. They looked at each other.

She lunged for him but he was faster, swooping toward her. Pain exploded out of her eyeballs as he slammed her against the cold, concrete wall and fucked her violently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know who Viserys and Wenda are passing off as Brienne?


	60. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This, Oberyn was familiar with—he had experimented in his younger days enough to know that while he didn’t walk the straight edge all the time, he didn’t see the point of veering wildly away from it.

This time, Jon Snow did not bypass Howland Reed’s home security system—much improved since he had dragged a bleeding Daario with him before—but rather rang the doorbell. Howland didn’t mask his displeasure upon seeing he had brought company with him: a tall, skinny man with sharp blue eyes and an unkempt red beard and the other with oily black hair and leathery face. Jon introduced Red Beard as Gianstbane and Leather Face as Bronn.

Meera was out with girlfriends for a quick weekend trip so she wasn’t going to come across any of these unsavoury characters. Still, Howland thought their presence was a stain. He never brought work home and he surely did not bring home to work—he did not even have a photo of his daughter on his desk back at WCA.

“I have a feeling you’d rather we come to you with what we’ve found out although the more fun option is storming the WCA and showing you this,” Jon Snow said, tossing a thick, expander envelope toward Howland, who fumbled initially before barely catching it. The agent strode across the dark, hardwood floors as if he owned every inch of them and pushed the double doors leading to the study with a familiarity that put Howland on edge. 

“Curious,” was all Howland could say as he followed. Jon stood by the desk while Giantsbane and Bronn waited for him to enter before going in. 

Howland pulled out sheaves of paper from the folder, examining them. A quick scan had him sighing heavily and sinking on his giant swivel chair. His green eyes narrowed at the trio before he dropped the folder on his desk.

“Where did you get this? This is classified. Martell?”

“Too easy. But that’s not the point.” Jon sat down. He met the director’s disapproving glare steadily. “You had suspicions about a Harpy spy who entered Westeros with the end of infiltrating the WCA to get intel on a cipher designed by a Selwyn Tarth. Project Sapphire.”

“The details of the project we don’t know,” Bronn spoke up. “But we did some further digging. We know this is was the last time Selwyn Tarth worked for the WCA. He suddenly resigned and took his wife and daughter back to Tarth. Your agency kept tabs on him but you turned up nothing. You resumed watching him when his wife Alysanne died in a car accident.”

“Only then did you realize it wasn’t Tarth you should be worried about but his wife.” Jon told Howland. “You knew, you son of a bitch. You knew she was a Harpy spy. She was Wenda. You had Renly recruit Brienne because you suspected she might have loyalties to the terrorist cell.”

“And she disappeared until a few days ago.” Bronn approached the desk and tossed a photo there. It was a set of crime scene photos. “Selwyn Tarth’s missing. Police back in Tarth identified his fingerprints and DNA and another unidentified person. We ran them through our database. Wenda’s taken him.”

“You had Jaime Lannister continue with the Wildfyre project because you suspected Viserys Targaryen’s working with the Harpy. Trant and Clegane—these are minor players. Targaryen’s just playing with them. You knew. You knew if there’s enough interest in the Wildfyre it will draw out these rats and the biggest catch of them all—the leader of the Sons of Harpy. If my guess is right, Selwyn Tarth was working on a code that would unlock communications on the Harpy side but because he left suddenly the project was abandoned. You have nothing on the Harpy. Not until the Golden Company’s encounter with the group a few weeks ago.” 

Jon didn’t know if he should tear Howland from navel to throat as the other man simply stared back at him, impassive as ever.  
And he did not deny a single word.

The Stranger is at your agents’ door, you bastard, Jon thought, fighting through the red clouding his brain.

“Congratulations, Director Reed,” he continued, reaching in his pocket. He dropped a flash disk on the desk. “Not only did Jaime succeed in weaponizing Wildfyre, he’s also made it a more efficient weapon. Smart bullets. Tailored specifically to the target’s DNA. That drive contains a DNA database of over one thousand people. Including President Olenna Tyrell’s.”

Howland snorted. “Now you talk of fantasy, Agent Snow.”

“Those were the bullets discharged the night of the ball at Targaryen Industries.”

“Really.”

“We have ways of finding out what you don’t want us to know, Howland.”

“Is this supposed to scare me?” Howland demanded, gesturing with disgust at Giantsbane and Bronn. 

“Consider it more as a need-to-know,” Jon replied loftily as he got to his feet. “Being that I have men with the president as we speak. A good evening to you, Howland.”

As he strolled out of the study, Bronn quipped to Howland, “Nice retirement place you’ve got, director. Really cozy.”

 

Oberyn Martell was firm in keeping a life separate from work. No one was supposed to know about the Red Room. No one was supposed to know about his proclivities—nothing about him outside of being the toughest son of a bitch with a computer. Regrets were useless, he was slowly realizing the more he became involved with the bedraggled, much-diminished Golden Company. No one could live so consciously as to refuse to be part of a puzzle. 

After gathering all the intel they could about the Sons of Harpy, the mysterious Alysanne Tarth, and the assassination attempt of President Olenna Tyrell at the Targaryen Industries, they began to form a picture, piece by piece. He had chilled at the realization that Howland Reed pretty much knew that their current shit situation had been foreseen and just let it happen. Agents lost their lives all the time. But there was a difference between dying for your country and dying needlessly. Robb Stark fit right in the latter.

Oberyn had lost friends in service to the country yet it was the murdered younger agent whom he couldn’t stop thinking about. He blamed it on casing Summer Hall, a harmless-sounding name to a hardcore place catering to non-conventional proclivities. This, he was familiar with—he had experimented in his younger days enough to know that while he didn’t walk the straight edge all the time, he didn’t see the point of veering wildly away from it.

Olenna Tyrell’s grandson had little interest on keeping it straight. He was all detours and surprise turns and curves. Loras Tyrell clearly believed in colouring outside the lines.

It took a calculated look, meant to capture his light brown eyes, followed by the spark of promise. A security detail surrounded Loras at all times, making it difficult so Oberyn had to be invited. He was not only invited. He was dragged behind an alley with rats crawling back and forth, cockroaches dying crunchy deaths under their shoes as they kissed and groped and made fevered pronouncements. For Loras, he was going to get really lucky. For Oberyn, it was a job. Not unpleasant but still a job.

Loras took him homet, a high-ceilinged, three-bedroom loft with wide spaces and filled with furniture to sprawl on like a spoiled pasha. He gave Oberyn a satisfactory blow job, his eagerness making up for what he lacked in skill. After catching their breaths, they wrested to the floor and it was there, on plush carpets and giant throw pillows encased in crushed velvets, Oberyn fucked Loras to a roaring climax.

The following night, they had dinner.

Dessert was Oberyn’s cock yet again.

On the third day, their first morning, they talked. Oberyn played this part well. Kept the details sparse for Loras to be intrigued, ask questions. To keep him hard. 

That same night, he brought Oberyn to introduce him to his grandmother nicknamed “Linny”—Olenna Tyrell.

While Jon, Bronn and Tormund were informing Howland Reed of what they’ve discovered, Oberyn had seized upon Loras excusing himself with a phone call to tell the President who he was. Olenna’s wizened face wrinkled in pure disgust and she snarled that nobody uses her grandson for any reason.

“I would if it would rescue a most loyal servant of Westeros,” Oberyn told her. As Olenna harrumphed, he asked, “Tell me, what do you know of Jaime Lannister?”

Samwell Tarly was a genius and he did have use despite being a fat, snivelling, smug, son of a bitch. He was an overweight mercenary too, offering his brains and services to the highest bidder. This was a red flag in trusting him.

But trust him Viserys did. Sam did give him good reason—he turned over files of the Golden Company’s covert operations in Westeros and Essos, as well as safe houses and networks of cells out in broad daylight, hiding under the guise of a business establishment.

Like a hospital for injured agents.

Dressed in loose scrubs, a white mask covering half the face and a mask to hide hair colour, a figure walked down the busy hallway. Doctors and nurses stood together, going over patients’ medications, reviewing or updating each other on a patient. Not a lot of family but a few scattered agent-looking types. A man with olive skin, thick, black hair and eyebrows and black eyes surrounded by cracked lines, was getting soda from the vending machine. He looked familiar.

“The target’s room is at 415.”A dark voice spoke in the ear.

“Approaching fourth floor. Visual?”

“No special ID or pass. Empty hallway All clear.” 

“Make sure.”

A quick elevator ride and there was the fourth floor. A nurse’s station was right across from the elevator but it was empty for the moment. Two nurses who were probably supposed to be on duty, were dismissive and ignorant as they smoked, irritating those nearby with respiratory problems, and had a really inane discussion of where to go for sushi next.

There was 415 at the end of the hallway. 

The target lay on her bed as still as death Her hair was pale blond, almost white, but her features indicated she was a lot younger. Of course there wasn’t much to tell other than how ugly she was, and now, uglier. 

“Are you close?” The voice asked.

“Standing over the target right now.” In one the pockets of the scrub was a lethal injection of Wildfyre. “Fuck, she looks grotesque.” 

“Make it quick. Keep it clean.”

“That’s surprising coming from you.”

“And you should know since you’re on your own now. Lots of thing to learn. Good luck to you.”

The disposable injection in hand held a greenish gold column of Wildfyre. One of the wires attached to the target was the dextrose. Perfect. She would burn from the inside and there was no one who could help her. She would be ashes. It was a giddying thought.

Removing the cover from the injection, there followed an experimental squeeze or two. Grabbing hold of the dextrose tube, the Wildfyre Injection was held over it.

“Mother,” came the shocked gasp of Brienne Tarth. Her eyes, big, blue, confused, stared right into Wenda's ice-cold gray stare. Her breath stuttered out of her bruised mouth as her eyes slowly moved toward the injection Wenda held.

Roaring, Wenda threw her arm back then brought it crashing down, the Wildfyre a streak green lightning heading straight for Brienne’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration was that scene in GoT 4 Episode 2, where Loras and Oberyn eye-fuck each other.


	61. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Even if I lift ban, Jaime Lannister was still complicit.”
> 
> “He was only acting on orders by Director Reed. If I may be so forward to suggest, if there’s anyone who’s accountable it’s Director Reed. He never told us about his plans. That’s why we’re in this mess. That’s why you were shot.”
> 
> “But how far did Reed’s orders go? How do we know Lannister can be trusted?”
> 
> Jon, grasping at straws, said, “I know him. He is loyal to this country. He’s as much of a patriot as anyone in this room.”

Brienne barely managed to roll away as the needle grazed her on the side of her throat. Dragging all the tubes snarled through her skin and around her body, she slammed heavily on the floor. She grabbed the tube imbedded in her nostril, sickened as she felt it glide from the back of her throat until its entire long length popped out of the hole. Blood dripped from her nose, dripped to her lips. Still caught between waking and dreaming, her stare was dull and lifeless. Her vision began to blacken for a moment until she heard the whoosh of Wenda’s boot aiming for her face.

She rolled away, just barely. 

Wenda’s boot landed heavily by her cheek, dirt and dust flying to her eyes.

Tearing up, Brienne moved blindly, relying on hearing for any motions coming from Wenda. The other woman continued to slash the injection through the air, clearly intent on plunging it anywhere in Brienne’s person. Still a heavy, groggy heap on the floor, Brienne could just roll away but it only went on for so long—Wenda smacked the toe of her boot right in her ribs.

Brienne screamed as she heard the stitches _rip,_ the skin open and the wet gush of blood.

She crawled under the bed, her fingers hitting the cold edge of what she presumed was a bed pan. Wincing, she threw its contents to her face, the salty splash stinging her eyes yet bringing her the much-needed wakefulness. Hearing Wenda behind her again, Brienne smashed the bedpan right at the back of her knee.

Twice.

Wenda fell with a shout.

Now on even ground, Brienne could bring the fight to Wenda. She slammed her sharp elbow on her nose, grinning at the familiar pop of a bone breaking. Still holding the bedpan, she struck her with the edge of it at the chin. Blood dripped from Wenda’s nose, Brienne’s blood from her open wound was slowly pooling around the floor.

She used the slickness to turn her body and slam fully onto Wenda, sending her on her back. Ouch. Her open wound hit something blunt on Wenda. Brienne was weak, light-headed, her vision was spinning and it felt like someone had smashed her skull with a hammer but she summoned what little strength she had to deliver a series of blows to Wenda, pinning her wrist to the floor and slamming it repeatedly on the floor until the needle flew out of her grasp. Before Brienne could deliver the death blow, Wenda swung her leg up and struck the back of her head. 

As Brienne went down, Wenda punched her right on the bleeding wound.

There was no stopping Brienne’s scream. 

“You fucking slut,” Wenda grunted, suddenly grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to her feet. Brienne realized that Wenda meant to throw her at the monitors—and she did. Her body crashed toward them, the electrical whines rising over her whimpers of pain as she fell. Brienne was on her knees, breathing hard, when she felt sharp fingers digging in her scalp to yank her by the hair again. 

Wenda slammed her against the wall.

Brienne saw stars.

“I hate you,” Wenda hissed. “I fucking hate you. I hate that they forced you on me. I hate you—“

Ready this time for another encounter with the wall, Brienne flattened her palms there and used it to propel her backward, sending both of them toppling on the bed. She dug her elbow on Wenda’s side to push herself up and run for the door—she was going to die, she needed help. But Wenda was quick to push her and send her skidding across the floor, smearing her blood the entire way.

Seven fucking hells, Brienne thought as her vision began to dim. She tried getting up but was still weak, she was dizzy. Wenda pulled her up by the hair again and Brienne staggered, disoriented from the sudden change in height after lying down for so long. Blood immediately rushed from her forehead down to her legs—blood that carried the oxygen that cleared her mind somewhat and told her to fight back.

_Or die._

She thrust her fingers right into Wenda’s eyeballs.

 

Jon channelled his fury over Howland’s continuing deception to work. Not that there was much to do—the Golden Company was still under close observation with eyes and ears everywhere. Still, he doubted if anyone would scan a mission report for bugs. And there were a lot of mission reports to do.

He was typing on a laptop when an analyst suddenly peeked from the partition to speak to him. “Director Snow,” he said. Jon was acting director of the Golden Company. “You need to see this.”

“What now?”

The analyst flushed. “It’s urgent sir, if you please.”

Jon sighed and followed him out.

A small army of security men with earpieces and in dark suits had positioned themselves around the office, as well as another group inside the glass-walled conference room. Jon caught sight of Oberyn, whose back faced him. He was talking to someone. When Oberyn turned so his profile faced Jon, he saw who the other agent was talking to.  
Jon had to control himself when he entered the conference room.

“President Tyrell,” he said, hoping his surprise wasn’t evident.

“Jon Snow, the Golden Company’s acting director, ma’am,” Oberyn said, introducing Jon.

Olenna Tyrell peered at him with her sharp gaze. “You’re in charge?”

“For the moment.”

“I’ll decide how long or short that’s going to be. This agent here,” she shot Oberyn a disapproving look, “wormed his way to my grandson to give me a song-and-dance about the patriotic Jaime Lannister, who I last know was kidnapped by unidentified men and was taken again by another unknown group. Did I get that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Olenna glared at them with narrowed eyes before she glanced at Oberyn before speaking to Jon. “Agent Martell tells me that due to unsanctioned measures of this division, you’ve been benched. I signed the order myself. Nearly cost me my life, young man.”

Jon didn’t know what to say to that. 

“You will give me a goddamned excellent reason why I should change my mind. And why you believe only you could bring Jaime Lannister back.”

“The Golden Company precisely functions the way you described it, ma’am. Know that we never work against the law exactly but we function where bureaucracy tends to hinder us. We’re mandated by the government to do things this way.”

“This Lannister fellow. Howland Reed tells _me_ he created Wildfyre.”

“That isn’t exactly true. Maegor Targaryen laid the groundwork for Wildfyre. Arthur Deyne, Lannister’s mentor, and himself, took what was left behind to its inevitable finish. Lannister was under orders by Reed himself to bring the Wildfyre to fruition. I believe the director intended to use the Wildfyre to lure underground syndicates and terrorist cells and bring the law to them. On paper, it looks like it will work. In reality it’s been a mess.” Jon’s eyes darkened. “The Golden Company has lost one good agent, and two more fighting their lives.”

“Ned Stark’s wife,” Olenna remarked.

“Director Catelyn Stark,” Jon supplied.

“I have curious reports that the other one has. . .a personal relationship with Mr. Lannister.” Olenna glanced at a man who appeared to be her chief of staff. “What’s her name?”

“Brienne Tarth, Ms. President.”

Jon looked at her right in the eye. “Hearsay. Agent Tarth has done little else but protect Jaime Lannister. She was one of the agents tasked to get rid of all traces of Wildfyre when Maegor Targaryen died but Reed had apparently instructed beforehand that some research be saved. Soon after, Lannister was working at Targaryen Industries, head of research and development. Agent Tarth intends to see an end to this, ma’am. She’s just sidelined with grievous injuries at the moment.”

“We’ve been trying to shut down Targaryen Industries for years due to their ties with the mob and the underworld. What about Viserys Targaryen? What’s his agenda?”

“It appears he intends to sell Wildfyre to the highest bidder.” Jon answered. “But we don’t trust it. If he wants to, he would have done it by now. Gregor Clegane, Mandon Moore and Boros Blount are lurking around longer than usual. I have reason to believe selling the Wildfyre is not Targaryen’s primary agenda.”

“You believe, Agent Snow? What about the Golden Company?”

Oberyn spoke up. “There is no reason why we would think otherwise, Madam President.”

“The Golden Company’s status needs to be cleared, Madam President,” Jon said in a firm but quiet voice. “Going through traditional government channels will take time. That’s time that could be spent looking for Lannister and making Targaryen pay.”

“That is true,” Olenna said. “But the Golden Company is still a government division, not a vigilante group.”

“We’ve never taken the law in our own hands. Merely assisted in the process of its swift and urgent execution.” Jon emphasized, “I don’t know if you’ve been told that Agent Tarth and Dr. Lannister downloaded a database with medical records. Yours, among them. That the bullet youwere shot with had been programmed to go to you, no one else. Director Reed’s orders to Lannister to see Wildfyre through has seen it taken into the form of a smart bullet. Unstoppable. You would know, Madam President.”

Olenna felt the twitch on her side where the bullet grazed her. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“Jaime Lannister has to be found,” Oberyn said. “Only the Golden Company can do that but not without the clearance it needs.”

Olenna Tyrell stared at them. “Even if I lift ban, Jaime Lannister was still complicit.”

“He was only acting on orders by Director Reed. If I may be so forward to suggest, if there’s anyone who’s accountable it’s Director Reed. He never told us about his plans. That’s why we’re in this mess. That’s why you were shot.”

“But how far did Reed’s orders go? How do we know Lannister can be trusted?”

Jon, grasping at straws, said, “I know him. He is loyal to this country. He’s as much of a patriot as anyone in this room.”

“That has yet to be determined.” Olenna told him.

 

Wenda’s pained wail echoed through the walls of the room, causing her to stumble and stagger to the floor. Brienne seized her freedom by lurching toward the door but Wenda managed to yank her away from it. Together, the two women fell. 

Wenda wrapped a slim but strong arm around Brienne’s neck, muttering she had to die, why won’t she die, she had to die. Brienne clawed at her wool-covered arm uselessly, feeling her throat beginning to squeeze from the inside, her breath coming out in weak, pathetic puffs. Wenda also rained punches on her bleeding side.

As she struggled, she spied the injection containing Wildfyre. It was a bit of a reach but if she could Wenda to fall on her side—

Grunting, Brienne rolled toward it, taking Wenda with her—whose grip around her neck firmed even more.

The world was beginning to go dark.

_Jaime._

Despite the tightness in her throat, a sob was choked out of her. _I love you, Blue._

She was never going to hold him again. She had not told him _anything._

This was not the goodbye she had imagined. 

As Brienne’s eyes fluttered closed, the door squeaked open.

“What the fuck—“ Daario Naharis exclaimed, seeing the mess in the room and the women on the floor. Black eyes widening in shock, he recovered just soon enough to reach for his gun and aim for Wenda and Brienne.

“If you kill me, she’ll never see her father again,” Wenda hissed.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t shoot you elsewhere,” Daario retorted and pulled the trigger.

A shot rang out. Wenda screamed. Arms fell from Brienne’s neck. She rolled again, coughing, sputtering and spitting. She grasped the injection and turned to Wenda, who was shouting and cursing at the bullet hole in her leg. She reached for a gun around her leg holster.

Brienne, spying a weapon that had gotten her this far, seized it. Red in the face, still wheezing, she swung around and hit Wenda right in the face with the steel bedpan.

Wenda fell on the floor, a heavy, unconscious heap. Daario strode forward, gun still aimed. His eyes were wild as he looked at the fallen woman but his words were to Brienne.

“Are you alright?”

Brienne spat. “ _Mother_ fucker."

Grimacing, she brained Wenda again with the bed pan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was always the plan with Brienne and Wenda and I got so stoked with the the premiere episode because "YAY, BRIENNE!"


	62. Waking the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What more do I have to do to be of some worth in your eyes?” She asked, her voice quiet. “I am following your blasted edict to marry a man who will never want me. I gave up my child to preserve the unsullied family name. Is it because I loved someone I shouldn’t have? But who else—how else can I love? He’s my brother. He was there for me when I needed him.”

Very little worried Cersei Lannister but today she added an item in the short list: Tywin.  
He had summoned her to Casterly Rock suddenly—which was always his style—but the urgency and his more demanding tone on the phone told her something was going on. This left her with only enough time to spit out Gregor Clegane’s semen and gargle with mouthwash. She straightened her demure, high-necked cranberry halter dress, fixed her chignon and called for her car to be brought around the front. 

She was ready to burst from her skin by the time the elevator descended to the lobby of her building. Jaime. Jaime’s been found, she thought. That was the only reason for Tywin to rush her like this. The thought made her heart pound, sent a hot flutter down her cunt.

Now she stood in Tywin’s study, hands tented and struggling not to wring her fingers as she waited. Usually, she liked his study—it was done in dark hardwood and priceless antiques. Power was stamped in every surface. Jaime hated the room because of its forbidding quality, finding it too dark and warm. Cersei would lovingly run a palm on an antique chaise lounge upholstered with lions surrounding a helpless stag, wondering how her brother could not see the beauty in the quiet savagery of the space.

The heavy doors opened and Tywin Lannister entered. His silver hair was brushed back and his green eyes, brilliant, hard emeralds, were sharper than ever. He nodded at Cersei before he sat down behind his desk. Cersei took it as a signal to take her own seat.

“You sent for me, father?”

Tywin looked at her assessingly. His eyes swept from the top of her golden hair, her ivory, unblemished face, then down to the rest of her body. Cersei didn’t dare swallow though it felt as if a string in the middle of her back was suddenly yanked tight. She met his cold stare and said nothing.

“Your absence from work these past few days has been noted. Are you well?”

Cersei struggled to hide her relief. _I am well,_ she thought to say. _I’m being fed well with cock and cum. It’s not your golden son’s but it will do._

“A malady brought from worrying about my brother,” she replied. “Have you news?”

“It’s from President Tyrell.”

“How is she?” Cersei couldn’t help smirking. “She has recovered, yes?”

Tywin glared at her. “You’ve made your feelings about our alliance with the Tyrells known. Do not bring shame to the Lannister name with your whining.”

“You are forcing me to marry a man who will cheat on me once my back is turned. Or perhaps he prefers me so, it might help him fantasize—“

“And you as well, my daughter?” Tywin said coldly. 

Cersei looked at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have reports that you’ve been consorting with dogs.” He sounded disgusted. “One dog in particular.”

“What’s the use of denial if you will never believe me?”

“You deny this when you carry his stink on you?”

Cersei flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Father.”

“See to it you lie better if Olenna Tyrell confronts you. This mess with Clegane ends and there will be no more of it. Not even when your brother is found. You are to marry Loras Tyrell and will behave as expected of his wife and a Lannister.”

Of course she was lying but she hated how Tywin just refused to believe her. “I speak the truth. You believe I have something. . . of an abomination with Clegane?”

“You seem to have a preference for things abominable.” Tywin said. _“Daughter.”_

He almost spat the last word as if it was bitter. Cersei fought the urge to dive across the desk and strike him.

“Now, to the reason why you’re here. President Tyrell assures me that a government black ops division will be recovering Jaime.”

Cersei’s heart froze. “Truly?”

“The President can only give me very scant information. But she told me that one of the reasons Jaime exiled himself from the family is his involvement with the government. She won’t disclose the nature of it but I can surmise that he was tasked by the government to see it through.”

_He didn’t leave me because of what I did. He had to._

“When Jaime returns, it is imperative he be convinced to work with us. His desertion has resulted in repercussions we are still recovering from. He is not to stray far from us again.”

Cersei, only half-listening, nodded. _Jaime is coming back._

“You will need to step aside.”

It took her a moment to digest what he’d said. “Step aside?”

“You have very little experience in management, despite having had the job for years. Your department is in shambles. Kevan and I have decided you would be me more effective with a smaller operation. Consider it as training as well.”

Disbelievingly, Cersei seethed, “You want me to step aside. To a smaller operation. I’m thirty-eight years old, Father. You’re making me start from the very bottom!”

“You need to learn, Cersei. Much.”

“What more do I have to do to be of some worth in your eyes?” She asked, her voice quiet. “I am following your blasted edict to marry a man who will never want me. I gave up my child to preserve the unsullied family name. Is it because I loved someone I shouldn’t have? But who else—how else can I love? He’s my brother. He was _there_ for me when I needed him.”

She bit out the last word, staring at Tywin hatefully. “I have done all you’ve demanded but you won’t see me as anything else but a woman, wouldn’t you?”

“You delude yourself if your being a woman is the problem,” Tywin answered without missing a beat. “You are short-sighted, have very little patience. You would rather instill fear than respect. You also believe yourself to be without fault. I refuse to turn over the reins to a person such as you.” His lips curled with derision at that sentence.   
“Do you hear yourself?”

“I will never apologize for my actions.”

“Ah, that is why, daughter. There it is.”

 

Jon stormed through the hallway of the hospital, his eyes sharp and darting crazily from one face to the next. Finally, he found the source of his ire. Daario Naharis scrambled to his feet, already on the defensive but Jon was fast. He grabbed the agent by the collar of his t-shirt and shoved him against the wall. Daario grunted but let Jon be.

“You were supposed to keep watch!” Jon shouted, ignoring the curious stares around them.

“I was gone for a minute!” Daario roared back, his hand easily snapping away Jon’s grip. 

“That one minute could have ended her, you fucker.” 

Daario looked away. Jon glared at him one last time before turning on his heel sharply and charged further down the hallway.

His head hurt and his heart hadn’t ceased its rapid, panicked beating since being told of what had happened to Brienne. Finally, he reached the end of the hallway.

Two armed agents stood in front of the door. Jon nodded and they quickly opened the door. He took a deep breath and entered the room.

The first thing he saw were Brienne’s brilliant blue eyes staring at him as she lay in bed. She wore less tubes, which was a good thing, but fresh bruises marred her face and arms. Her nose was more crooked than ever and the skin where a firm cheekbone used to hold it up was limp and hollow. She had crossed over to grotesque and it broke his heart that he hadn’t been there to protect his friend. 

Jon whispered her name and quickly went to her, a gentle hand going around her nape. A sob broke from Brienne and he kissed her, a gentle press of his lips on her forehead, a light brush of his lips against hers before cradling her carefully in his arms. Brienne was much bigger and heavier but right now she felt like a wounded bird. Her breath was weak, gasping sounds against his shoulder and she trembled with such violence Jon feared she would disintegrate. He held her tighter, burying his lips in her hair. She smelled of blood, disinfectant and soap. 

He only let go when she started squirming. She looked at him, her eyes big oceans and her chin still quivering. 

Gently, he kissed her again. It was a kiss to comfort, it was a kiss for a treasured friend. He helped her lay back on the bed. He sat down on a stool and reached for her hand.

“Jon. They told me about Jaime. About Catelyn. And Robb.” Her eyes watered again.

He nodded and brought her cracked knuckles to his lips. He licked at the dried blood.

“She has my father?” Brienne sounded so broken.

“What else do you know?” Jon asked. 

She flushed and winced, as if it pained her. She has so many bruises on her face, Jon thought, feeling the surge of anger at Wenda, at himself. She could have died.

In lieu of an answer, Brienne brought her hand to her tummy. 

“Everything will be alright, Brienne. I swear it.”

“Jon.” She sighed heavily, with difficulty. “Jon, I can’t be here.”

He nodded. “I suppose you want to go home but there’s still some reconstruction work—“

“I can’t be here. I want to be there when you question Wenda.”

“Out of the question, Brienne.”

“She’s my mother but only because she gave birth to me. That woman is dead as far as I’m concerned. Jon, she took my father.”

“And your connection to her, no matter how much you claim she is nothing—“

“She has never been anything!”

“You think she won’t toy with you? Brienne, she almost killed you.”

Brienne’s eyes burned. “But she didn’t.”

“No, Brienne.”

“What am I supposed to do here? She took people I love from me. Do you mean to tell me if you’re in my shoes you’d sit on your ass and not do anything?”

“You’re in no condition.”

“I made her bleed.” 

“Can you handle a gun right now? What’s the guarantee you won’t freeze? Do you have any idea what has happened to you? You need lots of therapy, a lot of time—“

“Fuck therapy, Jon! Fuck them all. This is my family. My father. My---“ Her voice faltered but she glared at him defiantly. “Jaime. I have a mission to finish.”

“It is no longer your mission.”

“You need intel. Intel only I have.”

“If you’re talking about the flash disk tucked in your dress, we’ve recovered it. It’s what convinced Tyrell to reinstate us.”

Jon dropped her hand. “I have to go, Brienne.”

He was halfway to the door when Brienne spoke.

“Robb is gone. Catelyn, for who knows how long. You need someone who can get in her mind and fuck her with it.   
You can do the job but you and I know that I’m better at it than you. Daario’s more brawn than brain. Oberyn is better with machines. There isn’t a lot of the Golden Company left, Jon. Not a lot that you can trust. You trust me. Out of that lot, I’m all that you trust. Don’t deny it.”

Jon continued to stand by the door. “Brienne, no.”

“We both know that won’t stop me. Even in my condition, what’s to stop me from breaking the necks of the agents you’ve posted outside my door? What’s to stop me from getting my father and Jaime back? I could disappear and work in the shadows if I must. Viserys Targaryen doesn’t deserve to be brought before the law and I will ensure that’s what will happen if you don’t allow me to work with you. I’ll make him pay but not within the boundaries of the law and I’d bet Tyrell won’t be pleased if that happens.”

“Seven Hells, Brienne.”

“I’m not walking right. I hurt all over. I’ve had worse done to me. This is nothing. This will never stop me. I just thought to give you the courtesy of an advanced warning. Jon, once you’re past that door, I will work against you if you refuse to let me be with you.”

 

Jaime woke up with a gasp. Darkness surrounded him.

_Fuck. I’m blind._

He sat up. He had been lying on the floor, not on the bed with the thin mattress of his cell. His feet were bare on the cold ground. As he moved, something yanked at his right ankle. He was chained to the wall like a dog.

“Bloody Seven,” he swore, rubbing his eyes so he could see.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the room was dark but thin slivers of light managed to seep through. He could see, which was a relief.

“Is someone there?” A strained voice asked. It sounded like an old man.

Jaime squinted until he made out a figure with thick white hair hunched in the corner.

“Only me.” He said. “Jaime Lannister. Who are you and why am I here?”

“My wife thought to give me company, it seems,” came the dry reply. “I’m Selwyn Tarth.”

Tarth.

“Brienne is your daughter?” Jaime asked.

“How do you know her?” Demanded Selwyn.

“I work with her. Was working. I was taken.” Jaime looked around the dark cell. 

“What do you mean working with my daughter? She’s a journalist. Are you a journalist too?”

_Fuck above, he doesn’t know his own daughter is a spook._

“Alysanne Tarth is your wife, then? Wenda, she calls herself.”

“Alysanne Tarth never existed.” Selwyn said. 

Jaime walked as far as his chained ankle would allow him.

“If you’re here, Mr. Lannister, you must have something that she wants.”

“Of which I’ve given, in the hopes of saving a life and Brienne’s.” Jaime murmured. What a fool you are. “Only now I realize she’s not here.”

“The Seven be merciful if she is.” Selwyn whispered. 

“Your wife—this Wenda—she claimed to have broken Brienne’s fingers and hurt her every time I refused to give what she wanted.” Jaime began haltingly. “I couldn’t turn over that database because I know once I do she’ll have our heads. Please tell me—was Brienne ever here?”

“I don’t know. I have not seen nor spoken to anyone since I’ve been here.” Selwyn sounded defeated. “I have no idea how much time has passed.”

Jaime rested his head on the cold wall, hoping that Brienne had never set foot here, that she had not been hurt. But if she wasn’t here could it be—

He couldn’t go there. 

_A world without those blue eyes would be the end of all light._

Definitely shouldn't. 

_Brienne, you idiot, if you’re dead, I’m going to find a way to bring you back to life so I could kill you myself. You swore to me we’ll both get out of this alive. Alive, Blue._

“Please, Mr. Lannister. How—how do you know my daughter?”

 

Daenerys froze when she heard the familiar metallic clicks of the door being unlocked. She gasped and ran from her bed to huddle in a corner of the room, hugging her knees to her chest. She prayed. She hoped. Her lips were murmuring a wordless prayer when she heard Viserys’ heavy footsteps advancing in the room. Closer and closer it approached her until he stopped.

Trembling, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

Viserys held a belt in his hands.

“Get on the bed, sweet sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, quite a lot happens here.


	63. The Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wenda will want to gloat.She will want to see me.”  
> “How do you know this?” Oberyn asked instead.  
> “I’m half of this bitch. I’d want the same thing if I were in shoes too.”
> 
> ____________  
> Another disturbing scene in this chapter. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. SKIP IF YOU MUST. 
> 
> You have been warned.

Talisa Maegyr looked up from the pale, quivering thighs of the woman she was feasting on and glared at Viserys.

“You’re not getting hard.”

She sat back on her haunches, sighing in frustration as Viserys continued to fiddle with the small, video camera he held. From where she was, she saw that the front of his pants remained flat. 

He had been furious listening to Wenda getting a beat-down from Brienne Tarth, ripping off the headset and venting his ire on the computers on the desk, terrifying his employees. Talisa, used to volcanic bursts of his temper, practically had to drag him away from the room and offer herself—Viserys when angry was _a hot fucker._ But he wanted to hurt first and fuck later. Much later. He left her but she knew he had gone to his sister.

She was in the middle of having the computers replaced and having Wenda tracked when she received his summons. Talisa went to her room to retrieve a bag and took the elevator to the dungeon. It was dank and damp, a dark place where souls died. The scent of metal and blood was thick in the air and she breathed it all in, her nipples tightening and her clit beginning to peek from her cunt lips. She didn’t knock on the door but rather pushed it open.

In the beginning, she had been shocked that Viserys kept his sister Daenerys bound and fucked her often though it had not produced a child. There were plenty of things wrong with the scenario but it fired up something in Talisa.  
She realized she liked to watch Viserys with his sister. They were blond and beautiful with big, purple eyes. When he invited her to their play, she had felt a freedom unlike anything before. Things would probably be different if Daenerys were willing but it was _so_ satisfying making her surrender, to watch the light drift from eyes.

Daenerys’ wrists were bound to the bedpost by a belt, whimpers and sobs escaping her as Viserys' lean hips flexed violently as he fucked her. Talisa felt the familiar tension in her body as she stepped out of her clothes, licking her lips. She pulled out the strap-on from the bag, a thick, long, monstrous thing that made Daenerys scream the first time she saw it, and scream even louder when fucked in the ass with it. Talisa loved the weak little sounds of protests emitting from her gagged mouth as she fucked the other woman, pinching her nipples and her fingers digging painfully in her cunt. She was sliding it on when Viserys told her not yet.

“I want you to fuck her.” He said, getting up from the bed and zipping up his pants. His long blond hair was matted with sweat and his purple eyes were almost black. “With your mouth and fingers.”

Her real preference. “Gladly, my dear,” Talisa told him, beaming with enthusiasm.

“Stop.” Daenerys whispered. “Please. Viserys. No more. No more.”

“Hush, darling,” Talisa told her, running a hand down her smooth, ivory thigh and tweaking a nipple. Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut and repeated her plea.

Until Daenerys, Talisa had never been with a woman. She had missed out on a lot although fucking Daenerys sure made up for it. Talisa ran her fingers from her bound wrists, meeting at her slender neck. She nipped at the wildly beating pulse there before her lips rose to her chin and finally, her wet mouth, flooded with the sweetest tears.  
Daenerys squirmed, tried to turn away but Talisa held her face, forcing her to receive the kiss. She rubbed her cunt against the other woman, feeling a burn akin to electricity. Her thighs were wet with her own cum and her brother's. The sensation was absolutely _thrilling._ She pinched Daenerys' nipples hard, twisting and pulling them, delighted with her screams.

“Your brother needs cheering up, darling,” she said, sucking on Daenerys’ throat before flicking a red nipple with her tongue. “Be a good sister and shut up. This is supposed to feel good.”

From behind the camera, Viserys growled, “Eat her out.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Daenerys shouted her protest again as Talisa lowered her mouth to her cunt. It smelled of fear and musk. As she spread the soft lips, a thick thread of semen dribbled down. Talisa slurped it noisily. Her fingers were vicious in fucking Daenerys; Gods, what soft cunt she had. She hoped Viserys would let her fuck it with the strap-on--it would tear right into her. Talisa giggled and slipped a few flicks and licks as the younger woman cried out from the orgasm forced upon her. 

Tears flowed to her cheeks and she whispered, too softly for Talisa to hear. She could only make out one word: “Dragon.” 

Talisa turned to Viserys, who was lowering the video camera. His erection was now a clear bulge in his pants.

“Will you join us?”

He grinned and unzipped his pants. 

 

Wenda, a.k.a. Alysanne Tarth, was wheeled into the offices of the Golden Company in a stretcher that kept her upright. After Brienne had knocked her unconscious, she was administered a serum meant to bring her to a languid state of mind. She would be alert but the serum was designed to unleash its might on the part of the brain responsible for lying. With this drug in her system, Wenda would have little opportunity to fabricate anything. 

Agents and analysts slowly rose to their feet as she was wheeled past them toward the interrogation room. Except for the soft whine from the computer monitors, a deathly silence fell on them. Word had gotten around of who this woman was in relation to a comrade, and with her identity unmasked came an endless list of her crimes. Horror and shock could be read from everyone’s faces.

Inside the interrogation room, Wenda was handcuffed to a metal chair. Her white-blond hair streamed to the floor until she was straightened up. 

Dressed in a baggy, navy blue jumpsuit, she looked thinner and ragged. Being an agent for the Sons of Harpy had not been kind to her, as revealed by the harsh lighting of the room.She was in her fifties but looked ten years older. The lines etched around her eyes were so deep they appeared to be scars. 

Despite looking worn and tired, Wenda was still feared. 

She may no longer be in the upper echelon of the Sons of Harpy but it was a position she held for a long time. She had also infiltrated the WCA through a relationship with Selwyn Tarth. Now, she was back, a potential walking apocalypse due to the agents she had taken down and had almost killed—including the director of the Golden Company, Catelyn Stark who had yet to wake up from her medically-induced coma, and Agent Brienne Tarth.

Daario watched through the bulletproof two-way mirror as agents prepared Wenda. Beside him stood Jon Snow.

“So it begins,” Daario said.

“No. It ends.” Jon told him.

Oberyn, firing up the scans and machines while the other agents in the room attached probes on Wenda, murmured, “This has gone on too long.”

Jon glanced at him then returned to look at the scene in front of the mirror.”Viserys Targaryen has disappeared. She’s the only link we have to him and Jaime Lannister. Possibly also Selwyn Tarth.” 

“Hagar and company are taking their time with the intel.” Oberyn remarked.

“We’ve only just been given clearance. And this is the last time we speak of it here. I doubt the Queen of Thorns would be pleased when she finds out we’re working with rogue ex-agents.”

“If they’re your men on the ground, they should’ve known that she was going to go after Brienne.” Oberyn was undeterred. “Haven’t you asked yourself that? Why did she go after Brienne? That woman has not been in touch with her daughter practically since birth. Why now? What’s her agenda?”

“Stick to your cables and machines,” Daario told him. “And leave it to us.”

Jon crossed his arms and gave him a side-eye. “You’re still on my shit list, Naharis.”

“Funny you say that. You shot me, kept me sick for days but I still think you’re a stand-up guy. A stand-up bastard, to be clear, but still.” Daario retorted.

“As acting director, I have the prerogative to conduct the interrogation in ways that would guarantee the surest results.” Jon told them, ignoring Daario’s crack. “Catelyn Stark is still recovering, admittedly the best for the job. Robb Stark is no longer with us. That leaves us with only one choice.”

He paused, letting it sink in to the other two agents first. Daario recovered first.

“You’ve gone mad, Snow.” He snarled. “You can’t possibly mean to have Brienne interrogating her own mother.”

“We don’t know what that woman is capable of.” Oberyn pointed out. “Or Tarth’s alliance.”

Jon glared at him. “I will not have Agent Tarth’s loyalty to the country questioned ever again. And she is the person for the job. Wenda won’t be expecting it. We need to give her all the shake-ups she can.”

“Brienne’s banged-up in the hospital—“ Daario began.

“No thanks to you.” Jon snapped.

Daario hung his head.

“Let it be known that I did not reach this decision easily but Agent Tarth will give us the results we want. And possibly avoid any more unnecessary bloodshed.”

As soon as Jon finished speaking, the door opened. The men turned around to see Brienne letting herself in.

Three days had passed since Wenda’s attack. Wenda had been kept unconscious the entire time. Jon hated the time lost—there were lives at stake but he knew that he, Daario, despite his Harpy past, nor Oberyn, could break down Wenda like Brienne can and would. Dr. Ygritte Wildling had refused to have Brienne released until she had at least started some of the reconstructive work for her face. Her nose was the easiest but due to the many drugs she was taking to temper the pain, Ygritte insisted she be kept in the hospital for a couple more days. 

Jon also had to remind Brienne about her baby. She had glared at him and huffed.

Brienne walked in, limping as she leaned on a cane. Splints and bandages covered her nose and she had black eyes as a result of the surgery. Jon swallowed, wondering for the nth time if he was right in giving her this responsibility. Wenda was not going to fear her. If anything, Brienne looked worse than ever. 

Brienne limped over awkwardly to arm herself with an earpiece. Her movements were slow, hardly reassuring to the men in the room looking at her doubtfully. Each of them were thinking that Jon Snow had just signed her death warrant because Wenda was sure to attack and she was hardly in any condition to defend herself. Oberyn, about to voice his opinion again, was stopped when Brienne spoke.

“Wenda will want to gloat.” She said, staring at the woman through the mirror. “She will want to see me.”

“How do you know this?” Oberyn asked instead.

“I’m half of this bitch. I’d want the same thing if I were in her shoes too.”

 

Brienne stood by the door of the interrogation room, took a deep breath then opened the door. Two agents were stationed at opposite corners. 

Her right leg was killing her. Brienne soldiered through the walk from the door to her seat across from Wenda, falling on it heavily. She was tired and sweat made the back of her t-shirt cling to her skin. Her breath came in loud puffs, too-loud puffs, so she often switched to breathing through her mouth. Her nose was stuffed to retain the shape it had been moulded to.

Brienne signalled to an agent to inject Wenda so she will wake up.

“Leave us.” She ordered the agents. Her voice said she would not be questioned.

She watched as Wenda slowly came awake.

Jon called her insane for wanting to be here and now she was thinking that he had a good reason. This woman had tried to kill her. Twice. Had tried to kill her twice knowing fully well who she was. 

_If she could slice me up knowing who I am, I can fuck with her mind and worse, knowing who and what she really is._

Brienne had Jon give her all the files on Wenda. She pored over them all day and night in the hospital, committing to memory vast amounts of data, turning them over and backward to make sure she missed nothing. She could have gone longer if not for Dr. Wildling insisting that she eat for the baby, and to take it easy since she’d just had surgery. Brienne would tell her to fuck off but the woman was only doing her job. 

As soon as she was discharged, she got in the car Jon had sent for her to drive her to the Golden Company. 

The drive had calmed her a bit, and allowed her to nap for a few minutes. Now she sat before Wenda, wondering how this person could be her mother. Brienne knew that the child in her was a lot smaller than the palm of her hand for the moment yet her connection to it, it seemed, _had always been there._ Before this child came to be, _the connection was already there._ She loved it harder than she thought possible. She would protect it at all costs. 

She wondered if Wenda had felt the same thing.

Wenda grunted and sighed as her eyes opened. Brienne met her cool, gray stare. 

She blinked and frowned. Her arms, suddenly moving, she found out were chained to the chair. She stared at Brienne with a mix of horror, confusion and curiosity. 

“What have you done to me?” She demanded to Brienne. “Who are you?”

“Is this our game now?” Brienne asked her with terrifying gentleness.

“Our game now? I don’t know what you’re talking about. What am I doing here? Who are you?” Panic spread across Wenda’s face as she pulled and pushed against the chains, metal grinding against metal. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I did my mission. Why am I in chains?”

Brienne was confused. Something was going on.

“Ask her who she is.” Jon’s spoke through the earpiece.

“For the record,” Brienne began, drawing Wenda’s wide eyes sharply to her. “State your name and occupation.”

Wenda froze. “W-Why? What do you need—why am I here? Who are you?”

Now something was definitely off.

“Your name and occupation,” Brienne repeated, giving her a hard, scrutinizing stare.

“I’m—I’m—I’m Alysanne. My name is Alysanne Tarth.” Wenda stammered. “I’m a housewife. Where’s my husband? Is Selwyn okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when I think I'm done with Viserys being a sick bastard I throw Talisa in the mix.
> 
> Like previously graphic and disturbing chapters, I had a lot of second, third, fourth, fifth thoughts in posting this. I had an alternative chapter. But I felt this version was necessary to the story for the reader to know that Talisa isn't just another Viserys lackey. This chapter is supposed (I hope it does) to set her up for a bigger, though more unsettling role as the story progresses. Plus, I didn't want readers to think Talisa as this helpless victim who's madly in love with Viserys--she plunged into the relationship with eyes wide open, and is probably more twisted than her lover.
> 
>  
> 
> Brienne and Alysanne/Wenda's showdown is one I was looking forward to from the beginning. I like how they are almost an even match, physically, but what about mentally? Who will play mind games to who? So if you're frustrated about this latest twist, I apologize but. . .not really. Lots of people messing with each other, never knowing who to trust or not. That's what keeps you on the edge of your seat!
> 
> I do apologize, though, for anyone offended by that scene with Viserys, Talisa and Daenerys. I think no matter how much I justify it was necessary to the story, there will be people displeased by it. That's what warnings and tags are for. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope I've left you with enough material to keep you warm and happy for the next chapter. I'd like to upload another chapter before the weekend. If not, then this weekend you'll be getting two chapters.
> 
> Cheers.


	64. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That monster is in there. We can get her out. I know it.”  
> “If you do this I will arrest you.”  
> “If my father dies because you’re being a by-the-book son of a bitch I will end you.”  
> “Oh? So this is all for your father? Just your father?

“What the fuck happened?” Brienne exploded upon storming into the room. Her eyes were sharp, blue bolts as she glared at the occupants of the room. “That woman doesn’t know who she is. Somebody tell me she’s pulling an elaborate con or I’m going to _fuck_ all of you in places you never thought could be fucked!”

A collective flinch swept through the room at her words. Daario looked at his lap. Oberyn wiped the sweat from his brow. Jon slowly rose to his feet. 

Brienne was furious. Her face was angry and red, the bandages there and her bruised eyes made her look like something straight out of a nightmare. She looked mad enough to tear them all from limb to limb with her bare hands. 

“It’s a possible side effect of what we gave her.” 

_“What. Exactly. Did. You. Give. Her.”_

He looked her in the eye. “The Long Farewell.”

“Fuck the gods.” Brienne snarled at him.“You didn’t take care with the dosage? Why the Long Farewell?”

“We needed her to be under. Way under. We have no idea what kind of training Wenda had. If she was able to infiltrate WCA through your father and kept that cover for years you can bet your damn ass she’s been trained for any situation. You know this. All of us in this room do. We’ve been trained to resist the most powerful of drugs. Your mother—“

She advanced toward him and he struggled not to leap back. In her current mood, crossing Brienne Tarth was a lot dangerous than surrounded by starving dragons. “She is not my fucking mother.”

“Look at her!” Jon gestured sharply at the glass. Wenda was looking around wildly while giving terrified glances at the shackles around her. “She’s survived. That godsdamned woman will probably outlive us all. We need all the intel we can get from her. The Long Farewell was the way to go.”

“Any mindfuck was supposed to be mine. Mine! You’ve turned her brain into mush.”

“If it makes her think she’s Alysanne Tarth don’t you think that’s an opportunity?”

“Alysanne Tarth lived years ago. It’s Wenda we want. Wenda who murdered Robb, put Catelyn in a coma, nearly killed me and who’s got my father and Jaime!”

“If I may speak,” Daario suddenly said. Brienne glared at him while Jon shot him a warning look. He cleared his throat.

“That woman in there might just be exactly what we need. I suspect the drug triggered her brain into self-hypnosis. I’ve heard of some Harpy agents who trained in self-hypnosis before in order to withstand possible torture—“

“Why not you?” Jon demanded.

Daario looked at him then back at Wenda. “It was a successful experiment at first but prolonged self-hypnosis was harmful. There’s a series of words to snap them off it but if it’s done frequently, too long, there’s no way that the agent reverts. That woman there is Alysanne Tarth. She believes herself to be Alysanne Tarth. I don’t believe you’ll get anything out of her.”

“How do we know the words to get her off it?” Brienne asked. 

“I don’t know. Her handler, probably. But tracking that person down, if that person is still alive, requires time.”

“Which we don’t have.” Jon muttered. “Fuck us all.”

Brienne strode to the glass and looked at Wenda. This was her mother in the room. It should tug something at her but she did not remember the woman. It wasn’t a tragedy; any connection with the bitch would compromise what she needed to do.

“Then that’s time we’re going to take for ourselves.” She turned to Oberyn. “You. You’re a whiz with computers. Think you can find who was her handler?”

“I can try.” Oberyn told her. To Daario, he said, “And you’re going to help.”

“I don’t want you to try. I want you to do it.” Brienne turned her attention back to Wenda. “We’re going to get things out of her. One way or another.”

Jon, understanding what she meant, growled, “Brienne, that’s against the law. You can’t do that within the boundaries of Westeros.”

“She doesn’t know where she is.”

Jon shook his head. “I can’t allow it, Brienne.”

“Hold on. What do you have in mind?” Daario asked.

Oberyn and Jon looked at him, aghast. 

“She may be an enemy of the state but if I sanction it Tyrell would have all our heads and there won’t be any Golden Company. Torture of any kind can’t happen. Not on my watch.” Jon looked at Brienne when he uttered the last sentence.

“Are you telling me we have to move this bitch to get the answers we need?” Brienne cocked a pale eyebrow at him. 

“Torture is only effective in getting people to sing.” Oberyn protested. “But it’s almost never the right notes.”

“There has to be another way to snap her out of the self-hypnosis.” Brienne looked thoughtfully at Wenda again. 

“She needs to be pushed to the point of no return. Where there’s no other way to be but Wenda.”

“Not on my watch.” Jon repeated.

Brienne ignored him. “That monster is in there. We can get her out. I know it.”

“If you do this I will arrest you.”

“If my father dies because you’re being a by-the-book son of a bitch I will end you.”

“Oh? So this is all for your father? Just your father?” Jon snapped. 

“I have a mission to finish.” Brienne looked him in the eye then everyone else in the room. “We all do.” 

She turned on her heel and headed for the door. A she opened it, Oberyn told her, “Brienne. Stop. This isn’t the way.”

Brienne’s eyes were cold. “Start tinkering with the computer, Oberyn. If you can’t watch just turn away.” 

Then she told Jon. “Last chance to stop me.”

Jon gave her a look that warned her she would pay for this. “Turn off the cameras. No recording of any kind. Now. Turn off everything now.”

He was still staring at the door a few seconds after Brienne had closed it when his phone rang. He pulled out of his pocket and answered. “Now’s not a good time.”

“We found something.” Jaqen H’ghar said. “I don’t believe you’d want to wait.”

“Where do I meet you?”

“Outside. Ten minutes.”

“Now? This really can’t wait?”

“Time is not your friend.”

 

“You didn’t give us an easy job, Jon Snow.” Jaqen told him as he slid the car in a parking slot in front of a wholesale supermarket. “There was a lot of crossed signals and piggybacking—Hot Pie didn’t sleep for three days straight—and when he cleared away the snarls and cobwebs, discovered an algorithm blocking us from identifying where Wenda was in contact with during the attack. He'll work on it when he wakes up. Kid needs his sleep.”

“So we still know nothing.” Jon stared off into space, shaking his head. “You got me out of a very important meeting for nothing.”

“I’m not done.” 

Jaqen reached in the backseat of the car and dropped a roll of papers on Jon’s lap. Jon freed one from a rubber band and spread it on his lap. “What am I looking at?”

“We’ve been keeping watch on the Targaryens and Lannisters. All that Viserys has done is hold that press conference condemning the attack on Tyrell. Since then, he’s been pretty legit. We’ve been scouring for his properties, anything. There was nothing that stood out until we thought that Viserys believes himself to be smarter than all. He would like us to think he’s got Brienne’s man and her father stashed elsewhere. But what if the opposite is true? Lo and behold, Summerhall.”

Summerhall was an old ancestral castle of the Targaryens. It was located in the foothills of the Red Mountains. Red Mountains was a three-day drive from King’s Landing, much of it very rough terrain and steep cliffs that only the most daring drivers would take on. Otherwise, flying was another option but due to visibility issues, it could also be risky. Plane crashes were a regular occurrence.

Jon examined the blueprint, squinting. “Seems normal.”

“Look closer.” When he still couldn’t find anything odd, Jaqen sighed loudly and jabbed a finger at the paper, nearly tearing it. “What do you see there?”

“Looks like an underground structure.”

“Really big, isn’t it? Longer and wider than the entire house. The dimensions are suspicious too. Viserys has got something down there. My guess is that’s where they’re holed up.” Jaqen said. “Something else. I had Hot Pie look into the Targaryens, focusing on the girl.”

“Daenerys Targaryen hasn’t been seen in public for five years.”

“Yet when Hot Pie hacked into Viserys’ accounts, there was quite a lot of products. . .for female use. The man doesn’t appear to be fucking anyone but isn’t that curious?”

As Jon digested the news, Jaqen reached in the backseat again. “Tormund’s on Cersei Lannister,” he said, getting an envelope and handing it to Jon. “Take a look.”

Jon glanced at him before sliding a finger in the envelope to discover a set of photos there. He pulled out a stack. “This her apartment?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jon rifled through the photos, taking mental notes. “And Gregor Clegane stays when he visits? There’s no photo of him and Cersei together.”

“That’s not going to happen. We can’t go in. Lannisters aren’t supposed to consort with dogs, you know. Arrogant asses. Unless you truly believe Clegane and that Lannister woman spend the night just talking.” Jaqen said with a smirk.

“I’m not going to the president about this, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Of course not. Just FYI. It might be useful.” Jaqen sat back. “How’s Catelyn?” 

The question wasn’t that sudden so Jon was able to answer quickly.“The same.”

He didn’t know exactly what went on with Catelyn Stark and Jaqen H’ghar. His knowledge did not go beyond that of Jaqen being Catelyn’s handler before he suddenly left the agency. They must have kept in touch despite that, still nurturing the trust between them. However, his alert hearing caught the catch in Jaqen’s voice at the mention of Catelyn’s name.

Whatever it was that happened between them, Catelyn Stark meant a great deal to him.

“She’s stable. That’s what matters. Her body’s been through hell. She needs to heal.”

“That she does. So. Are you going to raid Summerhall?”

“I can’t order a raid or anything until I have something more solid. For all we know he’s got a kinky playroom there.”

“You don’t find it suspicious?”

“The presence of items specifically for female use doesn’t mean Daenerys Targaryen is there, Jaqen. But yes, it is of great concern that she’s been gone for a long time.” Jon looked out the window. A mother was rolling a cart down the parking lot, her young son sitting on it and squealing. He glanced back at Jaqen.

“Can you spare some more men? Just to observe.”

“It’s time we talk about what’s in it for us.”

“Name your price. The Golden Company doesn’t have unlimited funds but I’m sure we can come to an agreement that would suit us all.”

 

The dungeon was cold and dark. The only light was a flickering light bulb on the ceiling that suddenly came on—Jaime believed it was programmed to do so which meant it was evening now. The flashing light was giving him a headache but he was too alert now to sleep.

Sitting on the other side of the dungeon was Selwyn Tarth. Like him, his ankle was chained to the wall. Jaime couldn’t get close enough to examine him but except for the heavy pockets of flesh under his sapphire eyes, no harm seemed to have come to him. He had all his fingernails, all his fingers. There was no blood on his clothes. 

Despite the restraint and his age, his movements were agile and swift. Jaime envied the man but reminded himself that he’d been beaten up since awakening. Beaten up and tortured.

Selwyn had demanded information about Brienne upon learning Jaime’s connection to her. Jaime had to be careful—he couldn’t tell the old man what his daughter actually did.He didn’t have to lie much, though it grated. He admitted his role in Viserys Targaryen’s company and Wildfyre. To this, Selwyn had looked at him disapprovingly. Jaime then made up the story of seeking Brienne’s help in getting the story out. When it was published, Viserys kidnapped him.

“What brings you here?” Jaime asked dryly. “Did you piss off Viserys too?”

“Seems I pissed off my dead wife.” Selwyn replied. Then, speaking to himself, he murmured, “She was too good to be true. I should have known.”

“What would your wife have in connection to Viserys?”

Selwyn rested his head against the wall he was leaning against, looking as if he’d aged ten years due to that question. Jaime, however, continued to look at him expectantly.

“Now? I don’t know. But my wife. . .I should stop calling her that.” The sigh was dragged from the deepest part of him, it seemed. “Alysanne Tarth never existed, after all.”

“I know she’s Wenda.”

Selwyn hissed. “How do you know this?”

“Your daughter and I had an encounter with her.” Jaime was angry at himself that there wasn’t much he could remember. He remembered guns and the shoot-out. Remembered the night wind whipping his face. Asking Brienne for a kiss of luck. Her scowl. Further, and he remembered her clammy skin under his lips. Her eyes. A world of sapphires. Eyes that had been his light in the dark. 

_Brienne, you must still be alive. I would know if you had gone._

“I hope she got away. I certainly didn’t.” 

“You know a lot more than you let on, Dr. Lannister.” Selwyn told him after a moment’s silence. “I suggest you stop with the lies and give me the truth.”

“You will not like the truth.”

“I know exactly what you’re talking about.” Selwyn smiled weakly and Jaime felt sorry for him. “But we still have to face them.”

“Your wife. You weren’t surprised when I told you I knew about her being Wenda. Did she tell you?”

“I knew from the beginning who and what she actually was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My description of Summerhall is a teeny splash from the books but the rest is on me. 
> 
> Selwyn Tarth knew about Alysanne/Wenda from the beginning! Holy hell.


	65. Closer and Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve done.” Alysanne sobbed. “You’re scaring me.”  
> “Good.”  
> “Bitch.”  
> Brienne grinned. “You would know.”  
> ________  
> As promised, my second update for the day!

“Brienne doesn’t know that I was a cryptologist for the WCA.” Selwyn told Jaime. “Code-breaking was still in its early stages. There were computers but they didn’t have a lot of capacity to do what I could do yet. Agents fed me codes and I unblocked them. I liked my job. I majored in linguistics and history in college. I was a professor at Westeros University when I was approached by the WCA. They did the usual song-and-dance about being a patriot and serving the country. It was unnecessary. I have always wanted to serve and thought teaching was the way to do it. When WCA came calling, I had no other answer.”

His conviction was familiar. Brienne had spoken much of her loyalty to Westeros, and it riled up Jaime how she expected to die for the country. This was the man behind that tenacity. 

“Three years after the WCA recruited me, I was transferred to NCO—the National Clandestine Office. Those were the early years of the cold war between Essos and Westeros. Trust was a rare commodity in those days—we didn’t have a lot of computers or database to check on people. The focus of my division was gathering foreign intelligence—Essosi intelligence. I continued my work as a code-breaker, overseeing and training staff this time. Two years after my transfer, I met Alysanne Tarth.”

The tiredness in Selwyn Tarth’s face ebbed away as he began to talk about a woman that had been a dream. Breathing, living, warm dream.

“By then the Sons of Harpy were getting powerful—it was even rumoured they had infiltrated vital positions within the Essosi government. We’ve been warned as well that Harpy agents would be infiltrating Westeros next. By any means necessary. But we didn’t have a lot on the Harpy—Westerosi agents were being executed, their covers blown. There were double agents everywhere. The diplomacy between our countries—that was the result of men and women who died for this country, Dr. Lannister. I lost a lot of my friends. Those who are left behind are no friends of mine.” He spoke bitterly.

Jaime had an inkling who those friends might be. The name had flitted past his lips before he knew better.

“Howland Reed?”

Selwyn eyes were sharp blades. Much like Brienne’s. “Who exactly are you, Dr. Lannister?” He demanded, tensing. “Do you take me for a fool, pretending you know nothing?”

“There are things I can’t tell you. It should be Brienne.” Jaime shot back. “But I am as I said. I’m a scientist. I’m here with you because of my work with your daughter.”

“And why would Howland Reed have a connection to my daughter?” Selwyn wouldn’t stop. “I had done everything possible to ensure my daughter knows nothing of my time with the WCA. What would you connect you to them, eh?”

“You were going to tell me about Alysanne Tarth,” Jaime reminded him.

“Not until you give me the truth, son.”

 

Despite having told Jaqen otherwise, Jon found himself standing before the dark double doors leading to the Rose Room. They opened and he straightened up before putting one foot in front of the other.

The Rose Room was a vast, circular space. It was called the Rose Room after the sigil of President Tyrell, a rose in a field of green. The room was carpeted in dark, vivid green and on the centre was a golden rose. Her family’s house words, “Growing Strong” surrounded the flower.

President Tyrell stood behind her desk, looking out of the window. Jon could only imagine her security doubling up the perimeter because the president was too stubborn to move her desk far from the window and not stand in front of it. 

“This is becoming a bad habit, Director Snow.” Olenna Tyrell said as soon as the doors closed behind him. “First, you had that man Oberyn Martell toy with my grandson. Then you demand I reinstate the Golden Company. Now you’re here. On another urgent business mere days since I’ve given you back your agency.” She pulled out her chair from the desk and sat down, then gestured curtly that Jon do the same. “Whatever you have should blow me away.”

“I think it’s no secret of who I am at the moment as far as business concerning the Golden Company is concerned,” Jon began, taking the envelope tucked under his arm to put it on his lap. “People know you’ve reinstated us. Which is probably why this was dropped off my doorstep this morning.”

He put the envelope Jaqen had given him earlier on the desk and glanced at Tyrell. “If the president would care to take a look.”

Olenna smirked. “What do you have there? The Essosi government’s nuclear launch codes?”

“Nothing as good, I’m afraid.” Jon admitted.

Olenna gave him another look before she reached into the envelope for its contents. She thumbed through the pile. “What am I seeing here?”

“The man you’re looking at is Gregor Clegane.”

“Clegane. Mobsters?”

“The same.”

“So he hangs out in this pretty building. Comes at night,” Olenna mused, setting aside the photos she was finished with, “leaves during the day.” 

“Cersei Lannister lives in that building. Gregor Clegane is Tywin Lannister’s godson.”

Olenna smirked. “I thought lions don’t consort with dogs. Or anyone who isn’t them.”

“Some story about the Clegane patriarch saving Tywin’s father once and as we all know, Lannisters are all about paying their debts. The photos show nothing. But they might mean something.” Jon said. “Especially since your family will be connected to the Lannisters soon through your grandson and Cersei.”

“They are probably good friends, young man. And how sure are you that it’s Cersei this Gregor was visiting?”

“Because she’s the only one there he would visit. Dogs, after all, don’t consort with anyone unlike them as well.”

Olenna tapped a short but manicured nail on the envelope. “What do you expect to get out of this?”

“Nothing at all. I mean that sincerely.”

“Do you know how I got here, Director Snow? I know how to call bullshit.”

“There really isn’t anything I need or want. The Golden Company’s concern is getting Jaime Lannister back and ensuring Wildfyre doesn’t fall in the wrong hands. I thought you might need to know. Consider this as gratitude for reinstating the division.”

“Bullshit.”

 

“Why am I here?” Alysanne Tarth demanded. “Who are you?”

“Tell me about yourself, Alysanne.” Brienne prodded her gently. “I would love an explanation as to why a nice woman like you ended up with more chains than all the maesters of old.”

“I-I don’t know.” She stuttered. “I don’t know. Where am I?”

“What do you remember?”

Tears brimmed from her gray eyes. “I went to the doctor today. I-I’m late. I wanted to be sure and it’s Selwyn’s birthday next week—“

Brienne’s heart slammed hard in her chest. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the mirror, seeking Jon, anyone who was there. When she turned back to Alysanne, she found the other woman still staring at her lap as she rambled.

“I’m pregnant.” Alysanne whispered. She suddenly lurched forward and Brienne moved away. “Please don’t hurt my baby,” she whispered.

Through her earpiece, Brienne heard Daario tell her, “She did visit the doctor during this time. Dr. Xaro Daxos. But he’s not a GP or an OB-GYN. He’s a neurologist.”

Brienne steeled herself as Alysanne narrated that she had been wanting to get pregnant for a while, how she was glad this happened sooner rather than later. It would make Selwyn happy. 

She really believes herself to be Alysanne Tarth and she’s glad to be pregnant with me. Me. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to her still-taut belly. She stared at Alysanne.

“How did you know you’re pregnant, Alysanne?” Brienne asked pleasantly. “Who’s your doctor?”

“Dr. Daxos. Xaro Daxos.” Alysanne answered quickly.

“You’re sure? He’s your OB-GYN?”

Alysanne nodded.

“He’s a neurologist, Alysanne. You’re lying.”

Rage twisted Alysanne’s face. “I’m not!”

“Stop fucking around and tell the truth.” Brienne told her slowly. “Who are you really?”

“I’m Alysanne Tarth.” 

“Alysanne Tarth doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I will help you. But only if you promise not to lie again.”

She nodded vigorously. “I swear.”

“It’s just as we feared.” Daario said in Brienne’s ear. “Xaro Daxos was another Harpy agent. He defected to Westeros around the time Alysanne disappeared. We’re cross-identifying him with possible aliases right now.”

“Your baby’s only a few weeks old. Still very vulnerable. Children always are. I’d hate for your child to be the one to face the consequences of your actions.”

“Why don’t you tell me what I’ve done.” Alysanne sobbed. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good.”

“Bitch.”

Brienne grinned. “You would know.”

“Ask her about your dad, Agent Tarth,” Oberyn told her.

“I suppose the chains are a little extreme—“

“A little? I’m a private citizen. I don’t know what the hell you’ve got on me but I can tell you I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Brienne held up her hand. “Let me be the one to decide that, Alysanne. That’s why I’m asking question and requesting that you be truthful.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You mean you didn’t know your OB-GYN is actually a neurologist?”

“Look, he’s the doctor the insurance provider gave, okay? How am I supposed to know?”

“For the record,” Daario told Brienne, “voice analysis says she’s telling the truth. She really is Alysanne Tarth right now.” 

“Alright, Alysanne,” Brienne spoke in a soft, soothing voice as if comforting a child. “Let’s say you didn’t know better. I’ll accept that. But only the truth from this point onwards, okay?”

“Oh-okay.”

“You said you’re a housewife. Have you worked before?”

“I taught elementary school.”

“Where?”

“At the Citadel.”

“For how long?”

“Three years. Then I moved to King’s Landing. I couldn’t find any teaching work for a while because it was the middle of the year. I was working in a bookstore when I met Selwyn.”

“You didn’t ask her that. Why did she think to mention it?” Daario voiced out Brienne’s suspicions.

“Just let her talk. She’ll trip up.” Oberyn said confidently.

“And Selwyn is. . .” Brienne asked Alysanne.

“My husband.” Alysanne sounded impatient. Good. Brienne intended to rile her up some more. 

“Describe to me how you met. . .your husband.”

Alysanne smiled. It was warm and happy and Brienne shifted in her seat, not sure if she should trust it. “He was looking for a book. The Lives of Four Kings. I was told by my boss that Selwyn Tarth collected first editions of history books and was a regular client. I liked that he read history. And he has kind eyes. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

Her voice softened as she spoke, a silky lull. Brienne refused to be taken under its spell.

“What does he do?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You’ve told me quite a lot so far, Alysanne. What’s with the sudden withholding?”

“I swore to my husband never to tell another soul. Please. Don’t force me.”

“Why? Does he engage in illegal activity?”

“ _No!_ Selwyn is the most honourable man I know.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what he does? The truth, Alysanne. Or I’ll fling you to the darkest cells and you’ll never   
see light nor another human being again.”

“I don’t even know what you have me for.”

“That’s why we’re talking. For me to determine if you are an enemy of the state.”

Alysanne paled. “What?”

“You don’t think I’ve got you shackled because of a traffic violation, do you?”

“I swear I am innocent. Of whatever it is you think I’ve done.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Who are you?” Alysanne shrieked.

“Your husband. What does he do.” Brienne told her coolly.

Alysanne shook her head. “No.”

“Then you leave me with no choice.” Brienne shot to her feet. Alysanne jumped and watched with widening eyes as Brienne headed for the door. 

“No! Stop! Please! Don’t—don’t.” Alysanne pleaded tearfully. Brienne whirled around and glared at the whimpering woman before her. 

“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Alysanne told her. “You have to believe me, please.”

“What does your husband do?” Brienne reached for the doorknob. Alysanne panicked again, shaking her head wildly.  
“He’s with the WCA. The NCO. National Clandestine Office.”

Disbelievingly, Brienne strode toward her. “The truth, Alysanne.”

“I’m telling you the truth! My husband is an agent. He told me. I swore to him never to breathe a word to anyone about this but you leave me with no choice.”

Dad was a spy. And he broke protocol by telling her.

Brienne, whose eyes were as big as Alysanne’s, hissed when Daario suddenly spoke in her ear.

“We’ve found Daxos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to what Brienne will do next?


	66. Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart hardened at the thought of her, once the sweet promise at the end of all this. Once. That hope was no longer, but anger, anger in waves. He longed to hurt her for all those lies but he had believed her. He had been a fool. And an even bigger fool because that love still remained—a love that once gave him life but now consumed him.

“I’ll be sure to tell your Mother, Sansa,” Ned Stark was saying to his daughter over the phone. “Stop worrying. No, you still can’t see her. She’ll be better soon, darling, I promise.”

Father and daughter spoke for a few more minutes before saying goodbye. Ned pocketed the phone and slipped back inside the room.

Lying was part of his job. He soon realized the necessity of it as he rose up the ranks. Catelyn being in law enforcement helped ease the deception required of him but there was still a good deal many things they kept from each other. Just as Catelyn had learned not to ask about military submarines surrounding the seas of Essos, Ned too knew to shut up when she staggered home with fresh bruises and cuts, or a new scar near something vital.

But Catelyn’s condition can not be ignored. That she hovered between life and death could not be ignored, try as he denied it. He sat on the stool, staring helplessly at the deathly stillness of the figure in bed. How could this be his wife?

Gone was the healthy sheen of her auburn hair. Her complexion, a healthy peaches-and-cream, was chalky. She did not have a lot of scars but oh, there were wounds, a lot of wounds, and one right into her heart. Ned took a deep breath as he lowered the loose neckline of her hospital gown to look at her chest. He slowly lifted the bandage to look at the ugly, puckered scar.   
He put the bandage back, covered it. With a heavy sigh, he sank back on the chair. 

At least, the children did not know the exact circumstances. The children. Ned felt a stone in his heart as he thought of Robb. But death, he had to think, death ended things. Robb would no longer have to risk his life. He would no longer be in danger. No more obligations and duty. He was free. He was safe. The one thing that kept Ned as one of the military advisers to Olenna Tyrell until recently his son had done on his own.

_We should be proud, Cat. He didn’t need us protecting him at all._

It should be comforting.

Maybe someday.

Ned struggled to swallow the thickness gathering in his throat. Hastily, he drew the blanket up Catelyn’s chin, checked that she was completely covered. 

He opened the book he had been reading to Catelyn. She loved contemporary gothic mystery thrillers, especially the _Unchained Maesters_ series. Ned thumbed through the book until he located the folded page. Clearing his throat, he began to read out loud.

He was reading the part about the mysterious Maester named Q conducting the final stages of an experiment to bring a monstrous soldier back to life when a groan reached his ears. Pausing, he glanced at Catelyn.

She lay unmoving.

He resumed reading. 

Another groan.

Holding his breath, he whispered, “C-Catelyn?”

She answered with silence. More stillness.

The gods were fucking with him now. He was tired. Ned put the book away and rubbed his eyes.

“Ned.”

He froze and lowered his fist.

Catelyn’s big, watery blue eyes were wide open.

And staring at him. Then at the tubes on her arms, the monitor that displayed her heartbeat. Horror slowly spread across her face and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

“Ned, what happened?” 

 

 

Jaime shivered, wrapping his arms around his knees as he digested Selwyn’s revelation, turning it over and over in his head. In the midst of doing this, the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. He let out a breath, looking around blindly but a lightbulb suddenly flashed, followed by a buzzing sound. Selwyn seemed to have remained unmoving. He nodded at Jaime’s wide eyes.

“It’s dark now. The light automatically goes on when it is.” He explained.

“That’s a relief. I think.” Jaime said, still looking around. 

“It takes some getting used to.”

“You sure already are.” He said, fighting to focus on what Selwyn had revealed only moments ago. “I’m sorry if I misunderstood this but you knew? About your wife? You knew who and what she was?”

“I exaggerate that I knew right away. But it didn’t take me long.” Selwyn laughed bitterly. “I should have known better. The gods know the signs were there. But I was a fool. A fool and in love. I believed her.” 

“But how? How did you put two and two together?”

Selwyn’s eyes were cold. “She talks in her sleep.”

Jaime stilled. Brienne talked in her sleep too. But that was the only similarity between her and Wenda. She had no ounce of evil in her body, only a stubborn head, a tenacity that rivalled the most determined of hunters and killers. 

Too well did he remember her anguished cries of his name and Robb’s hateful face when he told about how she had nightmares about him. Jime had seen it for himself. He didn’t want to know what Brienne saw in those dreams. What if it was the truth about him? 

“She would slip into Braavosi when talking in her sleep,” Selwyn continued to explain, unaware of the direction of Jaime’s thoughts.. “But my training in languages,” he added, tapping his ear, “gave me the ear for accents. We all have accents, they’re never completely gone. I know you’re from around here, Jaime Lannister. I would say your accent is Westerlands, Lannisport, probably, but that’s due to your name. But I also detect the enunciation of Riverrun Academy. How did I do?”

He graduated from that thrice-damned boarding school. Stunned, all Jaime could say was, “Perfect.”

“I detected Wenda’s accent despite her claims to have lived in Oldtown her whole life. She spoke perfectly, with no trace of any accent. That’s what made me curious at first—it’s a thing for linguists. The perfection—the absence of any accent, that made me think. I didn’t suspect anything then. But the nights where she woke me up crying in Braavosi piled on. I knew then she was hiding something.” 

“You didn’t confront her?”

“When your lover claims to be something she’s clearly not, you keep that knowledge close to your chest, Jaime. Else you’ll lose your head.” Selwyn said, chuckling harshly. “Like what happened to me.”

“But you already knew she was hiding something.”

“I told you. I was a fool in love. I hoped she would tell me. I asked her to marry me, she gave me a daughter and I still continued hoping. I could have ended things much earlier. Could have turned her in. But I loved her. I loved her.”

Jaime understood. For did he not love Cersei as blindly, willfully believing her lies, losing himself in the tangled web of her seduction and deception? His heart hardened at the thought of her, once the sweet promise at the end of all this. Once. That hope was no longer, but anger, anger in waves. He longed to hurt her for all those lies but he had believed her. He had been a fool. And an even bigger fool because that love still remained—a love that once gave him life but now consumed him. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to regret loving his sister. The truth of this was a knife endlessly twisting in his gut. 

As determined as Cersei was to hold on to his heart, his mind was awashed with images of pale blond hair, guileless sapphire eyes, a face that was a mishmash of features so unfortunate, the personification of ugly. Brienne too was in his heart, having settled in what little space there was for her as if she had always been there. This he was knew, more than what he still felt for his sister. He knew yet at the same time it was something he had not known of before—never from books nor songs, never from anyone who had mentioned anything close to it. He knew nothing but the strange stirrings of his heart at the thought of her, somewhere. Safe, he hoped. Safe and alive. Looking for him because he was her mission. Most likely itching to beat him up for getting separated from her. 

_She could break all my ribs, break my nose, try to make me as ugly as she is. Just as long as I get her back._

“We don’t get to choose who we love,” he found himself saying out loud, to himself, but Selwyn overheard.

“I loved a dream,” Selwyn said. “The woman I loved was an illusion, made to bring me down, make me betray my country.”  
Love for Cersei blinded me about Tyrion. 

“I started spying on my wife,” Selwyn went on. “It didn’t take long to find out she had lied. About everything. Brienne was the only true thing about her us, about us. I thought our daughter would change things— I still haven’t confronted her. But I did tell someone.” 

“Who?”

“The man I thought I could trust. Howland Reed.”

Jaime bristled. “That fucker is the reason I’m here. I’m here on his orders. That man told me to betray my country as my mission and that he’d bring me in when it was the right time. Instead he threw me to the Black Cells—“

He stopped but it was too late. Selwyn looked at his as if he could see right through him.

“Mission? Black Cells?” He echoed, rising to his feet stiffly. He approached Jaime until his chains yanked him back but he didn’t budge much from his spot. “I think it’s high time you tell me the truth, Jaime. I may be old, I may be in chains but believe me, I’d break that neck of yours if you don’t come clean right this minute.”

Cornered, Jaime growled, “Fuck it all. I’m an asset, alright? Renly Baratheon recruited me. I’m a goddamned scientist. That’s all I ever thought I’d be. But the government—your fucking government told me to continue with the Wildfyre research to see what that fucker Viserys Targaryen would do and to find out how deadly it is once weaponized. WCA recruited me, gave me the song and dance about serving my country but they fucked me. That Howland Reed. Catelyn Stark. Even your daughter. Fucked me for doing exactly what I was ordered to do.” 

He shot to his feet, staggering as the blood rushed back to his legs. “You’re not the only fool in this room, Tarth. But we’d be bigger idiots than we already are if we continue this girl talk and don’t try to fucking get out. I’d much prefer we continue our bonding session over tea and cucumber sandwiches, wouldn’t you?” 

“What exactly is my daughter’s connection to Howland Reed?” Selwyn demanded.

 

“`You’ll be out in the field,’ you said. We’ll be reeling in a big fish, you said,” Edd Tollet muttered, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel. He glared at the back of Daario Naharis’ head. “I’m a crack shot, skilled in languages. I’d say I’m overqualified to be your chauffeur for the evening, Agent Naharis.”

“Shut the fuck up if you can’t call me by my proper call sign,” Daario snapped at him, still looking out of the window from his passenger seat. Peering through his binoculars, he asked, “Are you in, Hot Pie?”

Hot Pie, who was in the backseat typing rapidly on his laptop, muttered, “A few more seconds, please.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, kid,” Daario reminded him  
.  
“There.” Hot Pie wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’m in.”

“What do we want from this guy?” Edd demanded.

“Holy shit, Daa—I mean, Sellsword. Sorry. Really Sorry.” Hot Pie flushed. Stammering, he said, “Sellsword, this guy is downloading porn.”

“Everyone does,” Edd retorted.

“No. Sellsword, this this sick. This guy. He’s—He’s—it’s child pornography!”

“Fuck the gods,” Edd swore while Daario continued his watch.

“Download it. Make sure we have enough to nail this guy.” Daario ordered Hot Pie. 

“Oh-okay.” 

“Then send an anonymous tip to the cops. Now, Hot Pie. Do it now.” Daario said, unsnapping his seatbelt. Then he turned to Edd. “You’re scrawny and you look more like a nerdy professor than an agent. You sure you can handle a gun?”

Edd glared at him. “Doubting me, Sellsword? You took me with you.”

“Scraping the bottom of the barrel.” Daario told him. “Get out. You’re coming with me. Hot Pie, behind the wheel. You tipped off the cops?”

“Y-Yes. I’m done. Er, what do you need from me now?”

“I need you to get behind the wheel. Can you drive?”

“I drive okay.”

“Tonight I need more than okay. You,” Daario pointed at Edd. “Out of the car. Now.”

Edd scrambled out and Daario stepped out of the vehicle. He beckoned the younger agent forward and together, they strode up the front steps. Edd read the name off the mailbox—Xavier.

“You follow my lead,” Daario told him as they climbed. “You do not speak unless spoken to, you do not make a move unless needed. We need this guy and we can’t let him get away. You got that? Good.” He rang the doorbell.

“Who’s this guy?” 

“He’s managed to re-invent himself as happy retiree Dr. Roan Xavier.” Daario said, straightening the collar of his shirt. “But he can’t run from who he really is. I’ll shoot Xaro Xhoan Daxos in the kneecaps before he does.”

 

“Mr. Lannister,” an aide of President Tyrell’s approached him. “The President will see you now.”

About time, Tywin thought as he rose from the uncomfortable bench he had been sitting on to follow the aide down the hallway. The two guards stationed outside the door of the Rose Room nodded and opened the doors. Soon, Tywin was being ushered in and shaking hands with Olenna.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Tywin,” Olenna said, shaking his hand briskly then gesturing he sit on the curved, sectional couch. “The Dornish Prime Minister is quite the chatterbox.”

“You asked to see me?” Tywin inquired, sitting down. Olenna positioned herself on an identical sofa across from him.  
“Tywin, I respect you. You’re a merciless bastard but you know what you’re doing. People are terrified of you but they trust you.” Olenna said. “Most people.”

“I suppose.” Tywin said, frowning.

Olenna glanced at the leather folder lying on the coffee able between them. She looked at Tywin then opened it.

“Tywin, I want you to know that in no way that this reflects on you. There’s only so much one can do, after all, about children.” She said, taking out the photos. 

 

Daenerys fell to her knees as she was shoved in a room. She looked up, quickly flinging a hand over her eyes as glaring white light sliced through eyeballs long used to the dark. She continued to curl and cower on the floor until a pair of hands began to pull her up. Viserys, she realized, identifying him by the punch of his lemony cologne.

“Sister,” he said, pushing her hair away from her shoulders. A finger under her chin prodded her to look up. Violet eyes mirrored her own.

She dropped her stare, trembling. Seeing this, Viserys chuckled and kissed her gently on the lips. She held her breath, her lips still under his plundering mouth, his seeking tongue. Her stomach turned as his arms slipped around her waist, his erection digging against her stomach.

“Viserys,” she stammered as he continued kissing her. “What—why am I here? Where am I?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Viserys smiled at her, delighted and gleeful all at once. He caught her chin in his hand, kissing her again before he pulled away. Daenerys swallowed, already bracing herself mentally for what new torture method he had in store for her. She fought to relax as he wrapped his arms around her from behind her.

She stood in a room surrounded by monitors, the biggest of them mounted on the wall high above her. The desks and chairs were empty, but in the screens were images—people going about their business, with no care in the world. 

From behind, Viserys cupped her shoulder and began to speak.

“I can make our family great again, sister,” he said. “Remember when Aegon conquered Westeros and made the kingdoms bow? I will make the world bow down to us. I will show them that the Targaryen dynasty continues and will endure, stronger than before.”

“I don’t understand what I’m supposed to see.” Daenerys whispered, looking at her bare feet. 

“Oh, you will.” He grabbed her hand and steered her toward one of the computers. He typed a couple of keys. “We have the ultimate weapon—the one and only weapon to make both Westeros and Essos bow to us and recognize the might of our name once again.”

Confused, she asked, “What weapon?”

His smile was sharp, knife-like. “Wildfyre.”

He sat down and yanked her down to his lap. Daenerys froze as his mouth violated her again, his tongue raking her tongue roughly as he pulled the skirt of her shift up. This time, she couldn’t control the sob from spilling out of her lips. 

“Why so despondent, sister?” Viserys asked, pulling away a little. “Our family will be great again. We will have more riches than you can ever imagine.” He cupped her chin, his eyes black with evil glee. “When Wildfyre goes on sale, Essos and Westeros would beg, they would fight to be the higher bidder. We have power again, sister. The power we lost from our uncle’s foolish experiments, his idiotic mismanagement.” He shook his head in disgust. “You and I are all that’s left of this family and together, we will make it powerful again. We will become that power with Wildfyre, Dany.”

“I don’t—Viserys, I don’t understand—“

“Then watch.” He turned her roughly toward the screen. “Watch how Wildfyre eliminates the enemy.”

She watched, as he’d ordered. Watched as a man suddenly doubled over on the ground, violent seizures overwhelming his body, greenish smoke drifting from his nostrils and mouth. She kept her eyes on the screen long after the horror had passed in order to not see the horror Viserys rewarded her with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, an update!
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be longer but there were parts that didn't have to be resolved right away so I dropped them. You'll find out what I mean in the next chapters.
> 
> We're approaching the end, everyone. Like you, I can't WAIT for Jaime and Brienne to reunite. I can't WAIT for how things will be resolved and tied together. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this latest chapter. 
> 
> Just a few things: Edd Tollet was introduced as a new agent in the Golden Company in Chapter 18: Standoff. Hints of Wenda's origins were in Brienne's dream in Chapter 16: No Rest for the Weary.


	67. Knife to the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned was a man who never revealed his deepest thoughts, even to his wife. When he looked up, she saw the anguish there and her heart twisted knowing she was responsible. She kept her hand cupped around his stubbled cheek, unable to form any words of reassurance or apology.
> 
> _____  
> The chapter begins with another disturbing scene. Please skip it if it makes you uncomfortable.

For the first time in five years since Viserys’ abuse began, he treated Daenerys like a human being—or as close to a human being as he would do. He still raped her, that didn’t surprise her anymore. Absent were the threats to hurt her, beatings, his sick laughter in her ear as she squirmed and pleaded that he stop. Last night, she had remained silent, staring dully back at Viserys heaving over her, his nonsense mutterings about the resurgence of House Targaryen falling in her deaf ears. In his bed, a four-poster monstrosity where he and his sick bitch of a girlfriend had fucked, were carved with crawling, snarling dragons in wood, mouths shaped into vicious snarls, tongues curling like worms. She stared at them with Viserys’ blond hairline in the periphery of her vision, or the slope of his sweaty shoulder. 

She buried herself deep inside, as deep as she could manage to forget the hard push of his cock inside her, for his taste not to swim in her blood, for his scent not to drown her from inside her mind. 

Now he was cuddled behind her, holding her as if they were lovers. In his insane mind that’s what he probably thought but Daenerys, slowly resurfacing from the walls she had erected around herself, heard that in lieu of tender and sweet whispers, Viserys was filling her ear with threats of how he would destroy the countries of Westeros and Essos and benefit. She bit her lip as he squeezed her breasts painfully, tried to slow her rapid, panicked breathing as he vowed that those who got in his way would know of fire and blood. 

He fucked her again, viciously, cruelly this time. This was the Viserys she knew but it didn’t make enduring it any easier. His fists ripped hair from her scalp, as he kissed her his teeth cut into her lip to draw blood, he pulled and pinched her nipples as if to drag them off completely. His cock ripped into the dryness of her cunt and he snarled in her ear as a pained gasp was pulled out of her mouth before escalating into cries. He got off on it, coming hard and thick. 

Her breath was painful hiccups as she lay curled on her side. Through the stream of her tears, she watched Viserys get dressed, his skin still gleaming with sweat, his cock half-hard and still shiny with cum. He simply toweled his skin dry before pulling on clothes. Daenerys closed her eyes, dreaming of a sleep that would give her freedom for a few hours.

But Viserys slapped her on the face. “Get up. We have to get you decent.”

He didn’t wait for her to move, choosing to yank her up by the hair despite her whimper. Then he shoved her away, straight into the arms of. . .Talisa.

Daenerys jerked away from Talisa’s caress, who laughed and told Viserys, “She’s still very spirited despite everything.” 

“She should be,” Viserys replied, sliding on a necktie and knotting it. “She’s a dragon.”

“Come, sweetheart,” Talisa said, smiling at her, her eyes dark with hunger and madness. “Your brothers needs you to be presentable and pretty for a very important meeting today.”

“I-I can get myself ready.” Daenerys cast pleading eyes at Viserys. “I can do it.”

“No. Talisa has to prepare you in a very special way.” Viserys told her gently, as if speaking to a child. He cradled her cheek in his palm. “For starters, we can’t have you crying and making all these ridiculous noises later.”

“I’ll be quiet, I swear.”

“Oh, sister, you swear and swear but always break your word. Tsk, tsk. I can’t have that, not today.” Viserys put a finger under her chin and urged her to look at him. “Today it begins, our return to power. There will be no second chances, Dany. I intend to sell Wildfyre to the highest bidder. And it isn’t cheap. I need you to trust me. I need you to be strong.”

“You can trust me.” Daenerys hoped she didn’t sound so desperate and broken. “Viserys, I will help you Anything.”

“Good.” His smile was slow and cruel. “Because whoever gets the Wildfyre gets to fuck you.”

As Daenerys paled, he told Talisa, “I suppose you’ll have to get her ready now.”

“No—“ Daenerys started to protest but a sharp prick similar to a bite flared from her arm. Shocked, she turned just in time to see Talisa withdrawing the needle. She tried grabbing the needle but her legs were jelly. She’s drugged me, Daenerys realized but this was as far as her thought went before a black tide rose and engulfed her. 

 

“How long are you going to drag this out?” Jon asked, passing Brienne a paper cup filled with hot tea. “Daario’s got the codes. What are you waiting for?”

Brienne, holding the cup to her lips but not taking a sip of the beverage, continued to stare at Wenda through the two-way glass. Her blue eyes were red and the skin under them loose, grayish along with the dark bruises that remained from her surgery. She looked no better, her nose still bandaged and stuffed, her skin bearing a sickly, chalky pallor. When she finally brought to her lips, her cheeks pinked. The taste soon hit her tongue and she winced, snatching the drink from her lips and glaring at Jon.

“You can’t have coffee,” he snapped, shoving a sandwich under her nose. “And you haven’t had anything to eat all night.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll bash your brains in if you go out that door without finishing this. That might be a good thing. If you won’t sleep willingly I might have to force you.” 

“You can try.”

“Don’t make me.”

Brienne read the stubbornness in his eyes. Oberyn was looking at them curiously, clearly unaware of her condition. That reminded her of it and she flushed, yanking the sandwich from Jon and starting to eat it. Grilled cheese. Not too bad, just on the right side of bearable. She wolfed down half but Jon still shook his head. She swallowed the rest of the meal then chased it with the now-lukewarm tea. Tea. Hateful, damnable tea. She slammed the cup down the desk and pointed at Wenda. 

“Look at her.” 

Wenda was slumped on the table, her forehead pillowed on her forearms as she slept. Chains remained crisscrossed around her wrists and ankles, limiting a lot of her movements. The woman was clearly tired—she certainly wasn’t the deadly agent that downed half their team. Brienne ignored her pleas for water, for food, hammering her with more questions, many repeated, just a permutation of ones already asked. She was waiting for Wenda to trip up but Jon couldn’t understand. Daario had already recovered the codes from Daxos to snap Wenda out of her self-hypnosis. Brienne could have used them at any time but here they were, eight hours later, with nothing much. _Not for long._

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before.” Brienne whispered disbelievingly. “Do you see it?”

“Right now, your inaction confounds me, Brienne. No. What am I supposed to see?”

“That’s how good she is,” she murmured to herself, “or how stupid we are. Only one of those things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, honestly.”

“Where’s the transcript?” Brienne suddenly asked, facing him. Her eyes were clear and searching. “Or a recording?”

Oberyn, rubbing his eyes, gestured loosely at the monitors. “Over there. What do you want?”

“I asked her about the Sons of Harpy. There’s something off, I don’t know exactly.” Brienne said. “Could you rewound to the hour? I think she may have said something, done something .I’m not sure. I need to see the footage. From three hours ago. Possibly longer but no more than six hours.”

“That’s too long, Brienne.”

She glowered at him. He met her stare. “Fine. Check from between three to four hours ago. There’s something there, I know it.”  
Oberyn pressed a couple of keys then presented her with the footage. Wenda’s face was distorted as he rewound the material rapidly. Suddenly, Brienne pointed. “There. Freeze it. Back up. Ten point seven seconds. There. Fuck, that’s it. Play it.”

_“I’m telling you the truth! My husband is an agent. He told me. I swore to him never to breathe a word to anyone about this but you leave me with no choice.”_

She took a quick swig of her coffee, ignoring how the burn seared her mouth and throat and crushed the cup in her fist before chucking it to the trash bin. She ran out of the room, the door slamming loudly behind her. Jon and Oberyn stared at the frozen image of Wenda looking right at the camera. “What the hell did she see?” Oberyn demanded to Jon. 

Brienne shot through the interrogation room, the glow in her blue eyes almost manic. Jon braced himself. “We’re about to find out.”

“Get up, Wenda,” Brienne demanded, stacking her big hands on the table across from her. When Wenda only stirred, she hissed, “Wake the fuck up, _you cunt._ I know your game.”

Wenda groaned, raising her head from her folded arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Listen and you will.” Brienne waited until she finished rubbing her eyes. Yawning, Wenda looked at her and said, “I need water.”

“You’re not in any position to need or request for anything. If it’s the last thing I’ll do, I’ll make sure that you’ll die in the slowest, most painful way.”

“Is this legal, what you’re doing?” Wenda shot back. “Look, if you suspect me of something, then charge me, damn it. You haven’t charged me yet. You’re detaining me against my will—“

“You’re a terrorist. That doesn’t give you any rights. You’re only alive because I allow it.”

“When my husband finds out—“

“Yes, your husband, Wenda. What does he do again?”

“He’s an agent. An agent for the NCO.”

Brienne’s breath escaped in steady, slow shafts from her lips.

“Here’s the thing. My father’s a learned man—a scholar. One of his expertise is linguistics.” She said nonchalantly, crossing her legs. “Are you familiar with it?”

Wenda glared at her. “Something to do with languages, right?”

“Ace.” Brienne drawled, nodding dramatically. “You’re smarter than you come across now. But you’re not as smart as you think. See, now, your name is supposed to be Alysanne, right?”

“It’s Alysanne. Alysanne Tarth. It is _my_ name.”

“I’ve noticed something about you. Now I’m not expert in linguistics, I know only the barest facts that my dad taught me.” Jon heard the catch in Brienne’s voice at the word dad. Her face gave nothing away, however. “You’ve spoken consistently in a high pitch since our interview began. Screaming, if I may add. Which could be vehement protest or. . .”

“I’m not lying,” Alysanne cried out.

“But you are. You have not fooled me for a single second. Your speech betrays you, Alysanne or whoever you believe yourself to be. I don’t have a good ear for accents but the way you speak, that nails-on-chalkboard voice of yours all throughout this interview, you’re trying to convince me through volume to believe you. You’re hardly hysterical—those nodes,” Brienne pointed at the one near her forehead and at her heart. “They do show you’re distressed but nowhere near as you should be if you really are Alysanne Tarth accused of terrorism. You are playing a role and while your effort is commendable, overall, I’d give it a B. With much hesitation.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m not done. Again, I’m no expert but my dad showed and taught me some things. There’s also your word choice. See, if you really are just a private civilian, you’ll just say `spy’ instead of `agent.’ And not once did your body or anything about you indicated resistance when I called you a terrorist. But it’s the word choice and the volume of your voice, Wenda. We’ve also tracked down your so-called doctor. I have the words to snap you out of this bullshit self-hypnosis but let’s not waste each other’s time. You’re Wenda and you just played the shittiest con in the history of shitty cons. And if you really remember yourself as Alysanne Tarth,” Brienne licked her lips, savouring her homing in on the kill. “Why didn’t you react when you saw yourself in the mirror as an old woman?”

As soon as she was finished speaking, Wenda suddenly swung her arms free from the chains. She shoved the table towards Brienne, who leaped out of the way just in time, her arm wrapping protectively around her middle. As Wenda set about picking the locks around her ankles, Brienne grabbed her gun from her hip and cocked it in her direction. Wenda froze and found herself staring at the black barrel of the handgun. Gone was the teary, fearful face of the suburban housewife she was playing. Brienne rose to her feet, her grip on the gun firm. 

“You’ve been beaten, Wenda.” 

“If you shoot me you’ll never see your father again,” she hissed.

“I won’t kill you,” Brienne shot back. “But I’ll make a cripple out of you.”

Wenda smirked. “You can try, daughter.”

Brienne squeezed the trigger and fired.

 

“But I’ve been resting for days, Ned,” Catelyn protested as her husband put a blanket over and started tucking her feet under its warmth. “The agency needs me. Who’s running things in my absence?”

“You’ve only been out of your coma for a day,” Ned told her, finishing with the task and dropping on the chair beside the bed. Tired gray eyes looked back at her as he leaned back and continued, “The doctors said to give it a couple of days. You took two in the chest, Cat. Running the Golden Company isn’t what you need right now.”

She frowned. “We have a mission.”

“From what I hear it’s ongoing.”

Catelyn nodded. What she remembered was their mission had not ended well.

She watched Ned reach for her hands, his thick, stubby fingers sliding between the little arcs of her elegant ones. He kissed her knuckles and she ran the fingers of her other hand through his dark hair. Ned was a man who never revealed his deepest thoughts, even to his wife. When he looked up, she saw the anguish there and her heart twisted knowing she was responsible. She kept her hand cupped around his stubbled cheek, unable to form any words of reassurance or apology.

“I thought I lost you.”

“You almost did.” It was the truth.

“You can’t. . .Cat, you can’t do that to me again. You can’t be rushing back to the work that almost took your life.” His voice took a pleading note.

“I wouldn’t be the woman you know if I let two bullets stop me.” She said after a moment of quiet. “You knew this about me before we got married.”

“What of the children? What if. . . what if you’d died,” Ned demanded, “what if you’d died? How do I tell them about the bullet wounds? You were mugged? You think it would be better for them to think their mother died of a senseless murder?”

“Murder no matter how you dress it, no matter the reason, is senseless.” 

Ned looked at her.

Still holding his hand, she continued, “I can’t be in here while our son is out there. I always say I’m an agent and a mother, one can never be separate from the other with me. But on missions I’m Robb’s mother. I’ve been lying but I won’t apologize. That’s why I can’t stand to be much longer than need be, Ned. If I’m out there, I believe I am protecting him. He’s still coming home.”

Ned dropped his eyes back to their joined hands.

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll only stay for one more day. But no longer.”

Ned gave a brief nod. He still didn’t let go of her hand. “Cat, there’s something you should know.”

She looked at him then, and maybe she had known before he spoke what he began to tell her. She may have known, it may have been the reason why she let herself sink into a coma. She may have known but it was no shield from the brutal fact that Robb was gone, forever silent, his light snuffed out. She tried holding back the violent sobs and shudders wracking through her body but she was powerless against the storm. The knowledge was knives plunging in and out of her body all over, bringing more pain, more unbearable, heart-wrenching pain. As if it wasn’t enough, she demanded that Ned tell her, to tell her who had put the bullet between her son’s blue eyes, blue eyes that were once so warm and alive. 

Ned shook his head, trying to withdraw from her touch—her nails clawing at the firm, thin flesh at the back of his hand. Through her tears, she rasped that he tell her, to tell her, damn the gods, who had shot their beautiful, brave boy.

“The bullet,” and this time a tear fell from the corner of Ned’s eye. “Cat.” He held her hand tighter.

Through her tears, her eyes were hard. _“Tell me.”_

Ned kissed her hand. “It was your gun.” 

 

Cersei was intoxicated from the envious, worshipful stares aimed at her as she strolled on the sidewalk and toward LannCorp Building. Fucking emphasized her sharp, breath-taking beauty even more, and she radiated with pleasure in it. A smirk, but which passed as a demure, little smile, spread across her lips as she walked through the revolving doors.

She was barely past it when Kevan Lannister approached her. “Cersei. Your father’s expecting you. If you’d follow me, please.”  
“I didn’t know Father wanted to see me.” Cersei said coolly, frowning as he took her by the elbow and led her to Tywin’s private elevator. “If I’d known I would have come here earlier.”

Kevan ignored her frown. “What matters is you’re here now. It’s a very urgent matter.”

“Aren’t they always with Tywin Lannister?”

Kevan ushered her into the elevator first before entering himself. He pressed the button that brought them right to the floor of Tywin’s office. She glared at Kevan’s back, disgusted at the bald dome of his head and his soft figure, so very unlike her father’s trim, firm shape. Her expression was bored as the elevator reached Tywin’s floor. Expecting Kevan to reach for her by the elbow again, she was surprised when he walked ahead of her. 

Cersei followed Kevan down the long hallway. She hated surprises but if Tywin had urgent need of her right away, then something important was happening. And he wanted her to be part of it. Perhaps her father was coming around, realizing that among his children she was the one that mattered. That she was the only one who took to heart his lessons on legacy.

Kevan opened the door for her. Uncle and niece glanced at each other before she stepped in. Cersei was glad she had worn her best dress today, a deep scarlet, long-sleeved dress ending at the knee. The style was conservative but hugged her slim, curvy figure beautifully. Blood-red stilettos clad her feet. 

Tywin stood with his back to them, looking out the window. He turned around when the door opened. Cersei gave him a brief nod and sat down. Kevan, to her surprise, went around to stand behind the desk. Tywin glanced at him as he approached his desk before sitting down.

His white, bearded face was impassive. Cersei spoke first. “You wanted to see me, Father?” Her voice was arched. “Uncle Kevan was waiting for me. If I’d known I wouldn’t have kept you waiting.”

“You’re early enough. You won’t be staying long, anyhow.” Tywin said. “But I suppose you can warm that seat the last few seconds you’ll be here.”

“The last few seconds I’ll be here?” Cersei tilted her head. “Am I going somewhere?”

“Kevan here will stand as witness.” Tywin said.

“Witness to what?”

“Today is the last day you will ever set foot in LannCorp and on any property under this company and that of the Lannister family. You will sell your shares and assets—“

 _“What are you talking about?_ ” Cersei enunciated every word slowly through gritted teeth.

“Daughter, you do take me for a fool.” Tywin said, his voice shards of ice. “So I’ll say it, being that Kevan is here to witness it.”  
Cersei stared back at him expectantly. Her heart rate began to pick up.

“You’ve made your displeasure regarding our alliance with Tyrells clear,” Tywin said. “You’ve been warned—“

“Warned? You _threatened_ me—“

“What you’ve done is tantamount to a breach of contract, fucking Gregor Clegane and getting caught.”

“Caught. What ridiculousness—“

“You will never fool me again, Cersei. Starting today, you will cease to have anything to do with LannCorp. You will sell all your assets and shares back to the company—“

Cersei shot to her feet. “You believe lies—“

“Lies?”

Kevan took an envelope from the desk, fanned out the photos and threw them on the desk. Cersei's blood froze in her veins as she saw that images the photos contained.

“Lies, niece?”

 

“We have various VVIPs coming in today,” explained Jon Umber, who chief of security operations of Targaryen Industries. Massively built and nearly seven feet tall, he was terrifying even in the sharply-cut black suit he was wearing as he stood at the front of the room to brief the guards under him. “Mr. Targaryen has ordered that they be ushered into the building through the back entrance,” he said, tapping a few keys on his laptop to project the image on the screen. "Then they will be led to the helipad and from there flown to Summerhall, Mr. Targaryen's private residence." 

Bronn, still undercover and stuck in the garish black-and-red uniform, listened closely as Umber started discussing about the ETA, and that along with the VVIPs own guards, five Targaryen guards would also be guiding and shielding them from scrutiny. He didn’t have to wait long to know who would be arriving.

“Gregor Clegane,” Umber continued, displaying his image. “Doesn’t like to be crowded so you’re going to have to keep your distance. But make sure this big guy isn’t seen. Move him through the doors quickly. Speaking of which, we’re going to need to turn off the cameras when they start arriving. Mr. Targaryen doesn’t want any record of them being in the building. Tanner, you’re in charge of that.”

“Got it, sir,” Tanner acknowledged.

“Next we have Boros Blount.” Umber said. He started rattling off basic information about him. 

Seven Bloody Hells, Bronn thought, feeling a sense of foreboding. Seconds later, it was confirmed.

“Our last VVIP is Mandon Moore. . .”

As soon as the meeting was over, Bronn snuck away, his cellphone already palmed. His eyes scanned quickly for any security cameras possibly tracking him so he retreated to the men’s room. It was empty. He slammed his weight on the door and quickly dialed a number.

“Jon Snow,” came a harried-sounding voice. There was a lot of shouting in the background. Bronn pulled the phone away from his ear. 

“Get your team, boss,” Bronn told him. “Dragon boy's friends are coming. You can bet your fucking ass his favorite toy will be the main event.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm no forensic linguistics expert so Brienne's approach to it and my rendering come from what little I know of it. So it' not accurate and I hope people don't snark about it considering I'm already admitting it, okay? :-)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. I'll see if I can upload a third update this week. Thank you for reading!


	68. Dragon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She’s murdered your agent and possibly Catelyn, if she’s ever going to wake up. Nearly murdered Brienne too, and kidnapped her father and lover. If I were in her enormous boots, I’d want Wenda dead too, parent or not.” 
> 
> ___________  
> A torture scene up ahead. Read at your own risk.  
> You've been warned.  
> This chapter is pretty short, sorry.

Jon Snow was in a war zone. Daario and Oberyn yelled, unable to do more than watch in horror as Brienne shot off Wenda’s knee cap. Wenda screamed, doubling up in pain. Jon hurriedly finished Bronn’s call just as Brienne’s voice rose from the speakers:

“Where is my father?”

She cocked her gun again and pointed it at Wenda’s remaining intact knee cap.

“Fuck you,” Wenda swore.

“Call for back-up,” Jon ordered Oberyn while gesturing at Daario. “You’re coming with me.” They started to run out of the room but Oberyn stopped them. “Watch.”

“I have seven bullets left, Mother.” Brienne hissed. “Where do you want me to shoot you next?”

“You’ll never find him alive.” Wenda raged. She turned to two-way mirror. “Help me!”

“If you give me the answer I want, I’ll shoot you somewhere less vital.” Brienne said conversationally. “If you don’t answer in five seconds, I’ll blow off your other knee cap. Five, four, three, two—“

“Somebody help me!” Wenda screamed as another shot hit the air.

“Naharis,” Jon snarled, heading for the door.

“If you go in there Brienne is most likely to shoot you,” Oberyn yelled as he yanked the door open. 

“If we don’t get in there she’s going to commit murder!”

“Hear me out—“

A shot rang out and Wenda screamed. “You whore!”

From the booth, the three men watched in growing horror at the growing pool of blood under Wenda and Brienne cocking her gun again.

“The way I see it, one dead terrorist isn’t a bad thing.” Oberyn told Jon and Daario. “That Wenda, she doesn’t have any more rights. She doesn’t exist. Why not let Brienne do what she wants?”

“Just a while ago you were arguing against torture,” Jon said. From the corner of his eye, Brienne was pointing the gun at Wenda again. “Why the different tune now, Martell?”

“She’s murdered your agent and possibly Catelyn, if she’s ever going to wake up. Nearly murdered Br  
ienne too, and kidnapped her father and lover. If I were in her enormous boots, I’d want Wenda dead too, parent or not.”  
There was Brienne’s voice in the speakers again. “Shall we continue, Wenda?” Her voice possessed a gentle, lethal edge.

“And now Wenda’s screwed us the entire night. Time we could have spent finding and rescuing her father and Jaime Lannister. Let this pass, Snow. We only have one recording, that’s easy to delete. There is no agent in this building who doesn’t want that bitch dead.”

As Jon and Oberyn glared at each other, Daario turned toward the two women. Wenda was whimpering, pleading. Brienne’s eyes were ice.

“You two better decide who wins. Whatever the outcome, Tarth will get what she wants,” he said.

“I’ll give you five seconds again, Wenda. Where is my father?”

“Just shoot me in the head!”

“Not yet.”

“This is not happening. Not on my watch!” Jon roared, diving out of the booth. He stormed through the interrogation room, amazed that Brienne’s grip on the gun remained firm despite his brash entrance. 

“Agent Tarth,” he said slowly, calmly. He glanced at Wenda, whose hands were uselessly cupped over the bleeding holes of her kneecaps. Her pants were red, as were her hands and feet. He held out his hand to Brienne. “The gun. I need your gun.”

“You leave the room or I’ll shoot you as well, Agent Snow,” Brienne said, keeping her eyes on Wenda. 

“She’s crazy! Shoot her!” Wenda demanded.

“Brienne, don’t let her do this to you.”

“Wenda, you will give me my father’s location,” Brienne told her, ignoring Jon’s outburst. “Again, the choice is yours. Give me what I want and I won’t shoot you in vital body parts. Don’t and I’ll shoot you in parts that won’t ever work again.”  
Seven Hells. Jon knew Brienne was a fearsome agent. He didn’t know she could hit the deep end and be terrifying. He kept his eye on the gun.

“Five. . .four. . .” Brienne drawled.

Jon pulled out his gun and cocked it toward Brienne. She stopped her countdown.

“You don’t need her for answers. I already have them.” He said. “Put the gun down and I’ll tell you.”

“Fuck. You knew and you let her shoot me?” Wenda raged at him. He glared at her. 

“Shut up or I’ll shoot you too. Brienne.” His voice was sharp. “Listen to me. I swear I know where your father is.”

“Three. . .”

“Brienne—“

“Two. . .”

Jon saw her begin to squeeze the trigger.

“I give you my word.” 

Brienne froze. Wenda’s hands flew to her face in feeble protection.

“Brienne, please. I swear I know where he is,” Jon was begging her.

To his relief, she lowered the gun. Jon let out an audible sigh and lowered his gun too. But she strode toward Wenda. He raised his gun again. “Don’t, Brienne. Don’t.”

“Know that if he wasn’t here, I would have blown off your throat,” she sneered at Wenda. “You wouldn’t be able to give me what I want then and you would die. But not right away. You will choke and drown in your own blood.”

Wenda spat at her boots. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be. I may be half of you but I’m still your daughter. Think of what happened today.” She gestured at the shallow pool of blood, at Wenda’s pale face. “Think of what I will do.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“Words you yourself should remember, don’t you think?” 

Suddenly, Brienne crouched down. Wenda jerked back. Jon growled, “Brienne.”

“Remember, you’re only alive because of him,” she continued, nodding briefly at Jon, who still had the gun pointed at her. “For every pain you’ve given my father I’ll serve it to you twice. You break his arm I’ll break both your arms. You give him a black eye I will scoop out your eyeballs with my bare hands. And make you eat them.”  
Then she straightened up, throwing Wenda a look of disgust before turning to Jon. He lowered the gun again. As she walked past him, she slid her gun back in its holster.

“Do me a favor, Jon?” Brienne asked, pausing at the doorway.

“You really think I owe you a favor?” He said angrily.

“When have I ever asked?”

Jon holstered his weapon. “Out with it.”

Brienne looked at Wenda again, who was shaking as she clutched at her bleeding kneecaps. _“Let her bleed.”_

 

A slit on the door popped open. Gloved hands pushed one covered tray then another, both of them landing cleanly on the floor. Jaime yanked at his chains before slamming the side of his fist on the wall while Selwyn looked on calmly. Then he rose—there was only enough give in his chains to reach for the trays, pushing one toward Jaime and taking the other for himself. Jaime glared at the tray and turned away.

“Eat,” Selwyn ordered him. “If we manage to escape, you need your strength.”

“How exactly do you propose we escape, hmm? I suppose you could, I don’t know, make yourself fit through that fucking slit?”  
Selwyn removed the lid from his tray and started eating. 

Jaime stared at him in disbelief. “How can you eat at a time like this?”

“I’m more amazed that you’ve managed to prattle on the entire night and you’ve yet to run out of things to say.” Selwyn remarked, helping himself to some peas. “Considering that you’ve told me things I never thought I would be worrying about.” He chewed and reached for the mashed potatoes next. “Getting my daughter as far as possible, protecting her, all for naught. Damn this life.”

Jaime stared at the ground then at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Better I know now than later.” Selwyn suddenly sounded tired. “My only daughter. A spy. The one thing I never wanted her to do.”  
He pushed his tray away, suddenly without an appetite. 

Jaime sank back to the floor, wondering why he could never keep his big mouth shut. It was becoming more and more certain that Brienne would kill him once they were reunited. 

“If it helps, Howland Reed still a prick,” he said. “You can’t trust the guy at all.”

“How that son of a bitch managed to claw his way to becoming director is beyond me. Serve your country by creating the most terrible weapon around. Serve your country by shutting up about your wife and observing her.” Selwyn grunted in disgust. “Alysanne—Wenda, she outmaneuvered him. I don’t know if that makes her good at her job or Howland Reed is really that big of a dumbass for letting a Harpy agent get away and pinning me for conspiracy. Me! I would die in the service of this country and that bastard tarnished my name.”

“From what I hear there’s a long line of people who want him dead.” Jaime told him. “You’ll have to get in line.”

“My daughter should have been a lot of things. But not a spy. No, never. That’s not the life I want for her.”

“Brienne’s saved me more times than I can count.” Jaime admitted. “I’ve asked her to swear to never endanger herself when my life is involved but she’s a stubborn mule.” A small, fond smile quirked his lips and despite Selwyn’s dejection, he caught it. “She’s relentless, you know. Won’t give up until the job’s done. But you’re right. She deserves better.”

“So she rescued you, eh?”

Jaime looked at him and saw the face of a man caught between pride and fear.

“Now that you mention it, yes.” Jaime chuckled. “She beat me up first. And that guy in her team. Robb Stark.”

“Catelyn’s son. I’ve heard of her when I was with the NCO. She was with the Long Lances, then. Elite government assassins.”

“I don’t believe she’s troubled that her son is in the same line of work,” Jaime said carefully. “Brienne’s partnered with him. He’s protective of her. Very protective. Really annoying.”

He got to his feet. His chains were shorter than Selwyn’s, allowing him to walk only halfway through the door. In his mind, he saw the door bursting open and his Blue coming in, fierce and lethal, looking mad enough to tear him from limb to limb yet also desperate to smother him with kisses. _Brienne Tarth, you’ve made me into a romantic fool._

“Do you really think she’ll find us?” Selwyn asked.

“She’s been looking since I was wrenched from her.” 

The thought made him warm. Almost as if Brienne was right there in the room with him, a solid, steadfast presence. 

Jaime would bask in his imagination a minute longer if not for the piercing screams of an alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne had to become unhinged. Torture is never the answer but given her current situation, she does believe it is justified. 
> 
> Please note that this chapter's depiction of torture, aside from being highly inaccurate, is alo the most difficult to write. It breaks the heart to see Brienne like this.


	69. Follow The Trail of Dead Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You nearly murdered a suspect within the offices of the Golden Company. No matter what that woman is, she’s still Essosi. You will go to war with Essos over your mother?”
> 
> "You don’t know how it is to lose someone you love."

_What had Talisa given her?_

Daenerys slapped herself on the face as she struggled to see through the double vision swimming before her. Her body was drunk with lead and she moved as if through water. She clung to the wall, gasping, as she lifted her leg to stretch it toward the next balcony.

After falling unconscious from the drug injected in her, Daenerys woke up in bed with Talisa above her, naked and gliding over her body like the bitch in heat that she always was. Through the haze, she willed herself to remain limp and still as a mouth with sharp teeth tugged and bit at her nipples, bore her teeth hard on her lower lip as thin fingers fucked her. The drug in her system hadn’t made her responsive for the first time in a long time, giving her just enough clarity to notice the small bust of a dragon on the bedside table. She had to act fast, difficult with whatever was in her body, but she did it, grabbing it and smashing Talisa repeatedly on the head until bone poked through the broken skin and curling, dark bits of brain joined the blood pooled at the foot of the bed.

She just had enough sense to lock the door and bar it further with a chair under the doorknob, as she’d seen in movies. She threw open doors until locating the closet and putting on the first clothes she touched. They were too big and stank strongly of Viserys’ perfume—a whiff of it almost had her crying in defeat but she yanked them on.

_If Viserys caught her. . .He’s going to pass me off to be raped,_ she thought for the thousandth time. It was either fight to the death or die slowly, excruciatingly.

Daenerys had no idea what was outside the door and dared not risk it. So she went to the balcony and began her climb to freedom.

The sun was beginning to rise. She shivered despite the heat because it meant there was no darkness to cover her. There is no going back, she reminded herself, leaping to the next balcony. She will have to find a way down but she was too high up. She pressed herself flat against a wall as she heard noises from the room. She clasped a hand around her mouth. 

Two male voices drifted toward her.

“He’s gonna sell his little bitch to the highest bidder, eh?”

“Too bad. I thought he’d throw her to us. Pretty thing with a pretty cunt.”

“Wouldn’t mind having a taste of her again.”

Daenerys closed her eyes, shivering from the chill of the wall and the turn of their conversation. She had to swallow hard to prevent the sickness from exploding out of her mouth.

She waited until hearing them leave before moving again. As she did, she took note of the layout and surroundings. The rising sun was bloody splotch in the horizon and she turned away from it, eyes darting quickly to the gate that was a good mile away from where she was. More balconies were leaped to, and she had to crouch and time and watch out for the armed guards walking around the property. From where she was, there were immediately a dozen guards. Her eyes veered to the gate again. Knowing Viserys, it was controlled. She’d never get out even if she managed to escape the guards.

Soon, she ran out of balconies to retreat into. Daenerys, still wobbly but sweating heavily now, cursed. She hadn’t planned to escape. To get out of Viserys’ clutches and more rapes, that had been her immediate goal. Ensuring it was turning out to be a lot more difficult than she thought. 

She looked down again. She guessed she must be five stories up. There was no pool or anything to land on that wouldn’t have her dead or seriously maimed. 

_I have to get transportation,_ she thought. 

Maybe it was instinct or memory but she knew where to go. The gods, if they were hearing her for the first time, had to give her at least this much.

Suddenly, the loud whine of an alarm resounded through the property.

 

Brienne didn’t stop Jon from grabbing her by the arm and shoving her into another interrogation room. But she quickly planted a hand on his chest and pushed him off her just as the door swung closed. Defiant pools of azure met furious browns.

“You nearly murdered a suspect,” Jon growled, advancing toward Brienne.

Brienne didn’t move, not even when his chest bumped against her. “Wenda is a terrorist. She doesn’t have any rights.”

“You nearly murdered a suspect within the offices of the Golden Company. No matter what that woman is, she’s still Essosi. You will go to war with Essos over your mother?”

The insanity that Brienne tapped into to pump bullets into Wenda had winded down, but not completely. Her first smacked right into his jaw. He staggered and hit her back—on her uninjured cheek. Still, it was a world of pain.

“You don’t know how it is to lose someone you love,” she hissed, wiping at the blood from the corner of her mouth as Jon nursed the purple bruise blooming on his chin.

“And the way to do that is to commit a crime? Do you not care—“

_“I bloody fucking care!”_

“No, you fucking don’t! You’re so blind with getting what you want that you’ve forgotten your mission, Agent Tarth!”

“How dare you.” She started to take a swing at him again but Jon growled, “Hit me again and I’ll forget the child in your belly.”

It was like getting hit by a ton of bricks, whiplashed by ice all at once. Brienne’s eyes widened and her arm dropped. Without looking behind her, she sank on a chair.

Her child. _Jaime’s child._ Her eyes wide and her breath in rapid pants, she looked down at her stomach. She didn’t forget but the truth of it hit her just now. She was carrying their child. Her mind was quick to take her back to recent events: the fall from Targaryen Industries, smashing onto the roof of a car, the black miasma she had swum in before resurfacing to light and Wenda’s murderous eyes. Wenda. Wenda who would have killed her if she had not---

Jon, seeing the growing horror and disbelief in her face, crashed to his knees before her and put a hand on her cheek.

“Hey. Brienne. _Brienne._ Sweetheart, it’s alright.” She breathed harshly, hitting him right in the nose with her dry breath tinged with the taste of antiseptic and hospital. 

Her eyes, blank, she whispered, “What have I done?”

He shook his head. “You didn’t finish.” 

She looked at him then. He cupped her face in his palms. “You went mad back there.”

“I know.”

Then she wrapped her arms around her middle. 

“If not for the chains. . .”

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t. . .I couldn’t think. . .Jon, oh gods.” A sob broke from her. He pulled her for a fierce embrace, rocking her in his arms, rubbing her back. Brienne clung to him. She was disintegrating, the gravity of what she had done, of what could have happened to their child, getting worse by the minute. 

What had happened to her? She had never lost control like this. She was always an agent first, only an agent. Even when Renly disappeared. . .she had not gone on the deep end like this. Answers, she remembered then. The desperation for answers, for even just Renly’s body as the days passed. But not like this. Never did she think she could go off like this.

Her mind took her back to the room with Wenda. She jerked, wincing at the memory of gunshots. Of the _satisfaction_ that owned her as she shot Wenda. The _exhilaration_ at the sight of blood and its metallic scent filling her head. More images flashed.

_When she looked back at the map, she was startled to find blood spreading from her hand and spreading across the map. She gasped and removed it._

_“Dad, I swear—“ she started to say but he shook his head._

_“None of this is your doing,” he told her._

_“What did I do?” She asked. Her stomach was turning as she heard her blood plop on the floor._

_“The right thing, Brienne. It is the right thing.”_

“My father,” she gasped. Her arms tightened around him. Her heart was tight with pain. _“Jaime.”_

“We’re getting them back.” 

She continued to hold him tightly. He had to pry her arms off him so he could lean back and look in her eyes.

“We’re getting them back,” he repeated. He gripped her by the nape and gently shook her. “Brienne, do you hear me? We’re getting them back. This mission will end.”

She inclined her head then dropped her eyes. 

“Will you be okay? Can you handle what I will be demanding from you?”

Brienne’s eyes watered. “Jon, I can’t—my leg—“

“You won’t be coming with us. But I need you to end this, Brienne. It’s gone on too long. Can you do this?” 

She had to do. For her father. Jaime. Unconsciously, her arm tightened around her stomach. Jon’s eyes fell there. 

“You have me.”

 

The finest champagne vintage. A bowl of chilled, fat strawberries. A romantic treat for most people. The last goodness in Cersei Lannister’s life.

She stood on the balcony of her penthouse, eyes closed, her unblemished, ivory face angled toward the warming sun. It felt wonderful. Her eyes opened, staring into the golden blast of the sun before they drifted down. Tears hung on the corners of her eyes. The other side of wonderful is pain.

Everything was gone.

Power.

The vice-presidency.

Wealth. Assets. Her name.

A hand flew to her heart. _Jaime._

She returned to the penthouse. Got herself the most delicate, elegant champagne flute from her collection before pulling the bottle from the ice and pouring it. It was silk and bubbles on her tongue, smooth and crisp at once. She poured herself another.

She had dismissed the servants for a couple of days, claiming that she would be gone for a while but wouldn’t need them to look after the place. As she had a third glass, she caught her reflection in the mirror and gasped. 

Even when ravaged from the inside she was still heart-stoppingly beautiful. Her silk robe mirrored the gold of her hair, her emerald eyes were bloodshot and her mouth a full, red shape. She went to the mirror, a hand rising to caress her reflection. In her mind, she was touching Jaime. Golden and beautiful. 

It was fitting to leave like this, as this was what Jaime saw and loved. 

I forgive you, my brother. My lover. She pressed a kiss on the mirror. It was cold and unyielding.

She quaffed more of the champagne and helped herself to a strawberry. It burst in her tongue like the thrill of a first kiss. She was nibbling on another fruit as she filled the bathtub with warm water. When it was full, she went to the drawer and pulled out a blade. 

 

The alarms were gone but shouts replaced it. Louder and louder they got the closer they approached. Selwyn gestured for Jaime to step back as the door suddenly swung open. Three armed guards entered the room then closed the door. Their beady glares bored on the two prisoners.

Selwyn met their stare and demanded, “May we help you?”

They ignored his question, turning their attention to Jaime next. A look was exchanged before suddenly, one of the guards slammed the butt of his shotgun on Jaime’s jaw. He replied with a loud grunt as he staggered before falling to the floor heavily. Selwyn quickly moved forward, ready to defend him when a guard pointed a gun at him.

“Old man, you get back.” He hissed. When Selwyn stared him down, he cocked the gun. “Now!”

Selwyn reacted before he knew exactly what he saw doing. Using his chains, he wrapped them around the guard’s arm and yanked, throwing him forward. He grabbed the gun as he fell and quickly pumped three bullets in each of the remaining guard. When the first guard groaned from the floor, he pumped two in his skull.

Jaime, blinking at him disbelievingly, said wonderingly, “Holy fuck, Tarth. We might just get out of here alive.”

Selwyn grunted as he searched the guards’ bodies for the keys. “Not yet, Lannister.” He unlocked his chains and went to Jaime to free him. “Can you fight?”

“I can try.” Jaime rubbed his wrists as the chains slid off him.

Selwyn glared at him. “I don’t want you to try, Lannister. You’re going to fight or you’re dead.” He handed Jaime the gun. “Can you shoot?”

“Of course I can. You just point and shoot, right?” Jaime said, putting it down the waistband of his pants while Selwyn took more guns from the guards. “What’s the play?”

“You move only when I move and when I tell you to. No wise-cracking and no second-guessing me. If I tell you to jump, you’re jumping.” As Jaime’s face paled, Selwyn shrugged. “Look, I don’t know any better than you. I was hardly out in the field when I was an agent and did more office work. But I think we can get us out of here alive.” Still holding the keys, he started unlocking the door.

_“You think?!?”_ Jaime growled.

Selwyn looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m all you’ve got for the moment, Lannister. Take it or die.” 

 

Daenerys was up in the fucking tree. 

Hugging the limb, she watched, panicked, as the guards continued combing the grounds. The alarms had gone silent but the flurry of activity was madder than ever. She had already caught a glimpse of Viserys, blond and more terrifying in his fury as he was told about Talisa. Daenerys broke her nails clinging to the tree as he raged about finding his “fucking cunt of a sister” or he’ll burn everyone alive.

_Oh, gods. Please. Help me._

After scaling the last balcony, she heard Viserys’ angry scream upon being told of her escape. Panicking, she’d leaped to the nearest tree, swung up a branch and clambered up as quickly as she could. She had retreated toward the thick cluster of leaves just as the double doors of the balcony burst open and Viserys lashed at the guards to look for her. She had no moved since.

Forced to stop, she was able to determine she was in Summerhall, her childhood summer home. Nothing had changed—she hoped so. If nothing had changed, this meant that she was in the north wing of the house. The garage was on the east wing. 

It would be much easier if she were on the ground but with the place crawling with guards and hounds, she couldn’t. She sniffled and buried her nose in the bark, stifling the sob welling up her throat.

Just then, she heard barking. 

_Lots of it._


	70. Again, and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you mean?”  
> “It’s a no-fly zone.” Brienne explained. “Which means anyone who goes there without permission will be shot down.”  
> “This operation is over before it’s begun,” Edd muttered under his breath.

The small army of hounds were fueled by bloodlust as soon as they picked up her scent and followed the trail. Daenerys, gasping for breath, forced her body to climb higher in the tree until there were no more limbs and branches that could hold her weight. Purple eyes widened in terror as the hounds, barking viciously, surrounded the tree. In her panic, she moved away by instinct and slipped from her spot. A cry was ripped from her throat as she fell, branches scratching her face and arms before managing to grab a limb. When she did, she found herself only a few feet above the guards, all with automatic assault rifles pointed at her.

“Your brother said to shoot you on sight,” one of them sneered as she swung up the limb so she could sit and hug the tree uselessly.

“Or fuck you first then put a bullet between your pretty eyes,” another laughed. “Get down from the tree, you dumb bitch.”

As Daenerys shut her eyes from the tears flowing down in anger, a shot rang out and whizzed by her ear. She gasped, eyes flying open in shock as she momentarily let go. She dug her nails in the bark as more cruel laughter and the eager barking of starving hounds sounded from below.

She was going to die. However she played this, she was going to die, she realized. The only option left was how she was going to die. As another shot sliced through the air, she whimpered. Years of torture only for the end to come like this.

She should have died on the first day.

“Come on, little bitch.” Another shot.

They were going to rape her. Her body would always remember how Viserys gave her to a few guards several times and the sick pleasure they took in brutalizing her body. She would always know what Viserys had done. To her. His sister. His own blood.

Another shot. She screamed as the bullet grazed her thigh. She clung.

“We can do this all day, cunt.”

Her tears began to drown her.

_This can’t be it._

Another shot. Then another. Another.

Ice sank in her veins. _They meant to empty their bullets in her._

Her body had long been broken. Her spirit was tatters. Her mind—what was left of it but a shell? 

There was no reason to fight.

_No more._

Another shot. 

There was pain. As hot as dragon fire.

Daenerys Targaryen began to fall.

 

Jaime’s vision was beginning to blur as he ran after Selwyn down the hall. The pain in breating was not due to a stitch in his side—his ribs fucking hurt. They were probably broken from the kicks and beatings he had endured before, and healing very poorly. He slammed into a wall as he took that sharp turn preceded by Selwyn, who was running effortlessly.

He flinched as Selwyn shot at the cameras and took three more guards. As he divested them of weapons, Jaime kept a sharp eye for any oncoming attack. Then they were running again, with Selwyn shooting at more cameras. Guards stopped coming but doors began to rise, barring them from moving any further and forcing them to change directions. It was pointless shooting at the walls—they repelled bullets. One of them bounced and hit Jaime right on the shoulder.

“Fucking hell!” He shouted, staggering, hand cupping over the bleeding wound. 

“Lights,” Selwyn grunted, beginning to shoot at lightbulbs. Jaime threw his uninjured arm over his head as sharp shards of glass rained on them. As he blinked at the darkness, he felt Selwyn dragging him up.

“We have to keep moving!” 

 

“Our source was able to break the algorithm blocking us from accessing the location of Wenda’s last call.” Jon was addressing the room, displaying a blueprint on the projection screen. “It confirms what she said during her interrogation. Summerhall.”

“Summerhall looks like a pretty castle but it’s a fortress.” Daario said. “The grounds are manned twenty-four hours a day, along with surveillance cameras every five yards and motion sensors all over. Viserys has also managed to buy the entire block on which Summerhall is located so there’s even more guards outside.”

“Initially, we thought the best way would be through water,” Jon flashed on an image of the sea on the other side of Summerhall. “But it’s heavily guarded as well. Targaryen also owns the air.”

“Owns the air?” Edd Tollett asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a no-fly zone.” Brienne explained. “Which means anyone who goes there without permission will be shot down.”

“This operation is over before it’s begun,” Edd muttered under his breath.

“Our only option, and hardly the best, is from underwater,” Jon said, putting up another schematic of an underground chamber in Summerhall. “But we don’t know what kind of security system, possibly traps that may be there once we surface. Viserys Targaryen’s paranoia ensures that this area is as heavily guarded as the ones we can see. It gets worse,” he added to the grim faces surrounding him in the conference room. “Our source at the Targaryen Industries has alerted me about an important meeting at Summerhall today.” 

He told them about Clegane, Blount and Moore being expected at Targaryen Industries who would then be flown together to Summerhall for an important meeting with Viserys Targaryen. Collective groans filled the room.

“He’s going to sell Wildfyre.”

“Only reason why they’ll be coming.”

“He can’t have caches there, or does he? Won’t he need to demonstrate?”

“He has. With a previous mission.”

“This is madness.”

As everyone murmured to fellow agents, the doors opened. Jon, who was speaking to Daario in a low voice looked up. Brienne, who had retreated into herself as the hopelessness of the situation began to claw at her heart, raised her blue eyes and nearly wept. 

Catelyn Stark, her blue eyes cold and her mouth set in a tight, pursed line, looked at every one of them before nodding. “It’s good to know the Golden Company continues its work.”

Jon didn’t mask the relief in his face. “Director Stark.”

“Thank you for keeping me up to speed, Agent Snow. But this is your show,” Catelyn told him, remaining standing. “And I’m your agent.”

 

Brienne was setting up the communications system in the director’s office when a light tap on the door interrupted her. Turning, she gave a small smile as Catelyn let herself in.

Her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Clad entirely in black with her holsters strapped around her waist, her thigh and her leg, Brienne was given a glimpse of the Lady Executioner back when she was a field agent. She nodded at Brienne, her eyes softening a little but the rest of her face remaining a hard, unforgiving mask.

“You are okay?” She asked Brienne. “About having to take a backseat?”

“I should be asking if you are okay,” Brienne told her gently. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of Robb’s death, the knowledge too much already with what was happening.

“I’ll never be.” Catelyn added. “This job kills you slowly each day until one day it just goes to fuck and you’re just gone.”  
She looked pointedly at Brienne—her injured knee, the bandage around her nose and the stuffing under it, the stitch on her cheek from the first stage of its reconstructive surgery, the bruises under her eyes. Brienne flushed and continued setting up the comms.

“It’s what we signed up for, Catelyn.”

“I know. Robb knew too. But it doesn’t the lessen the pain of those left behind.” Catelyn took a step forward. “For your sake, I hope you don’t learn of it until it’s too late.”

“Even if we leave, it’s a part of us. Just look at my father.” Brienne took a deep breath. “My mother.” She looked at Catelyn. “You’re still here.”

“I have a mission to finish.”

“So do I.”

Brienne turned away and continued with her task. Catelyn put a hand on her shoulder. She faced her boss again. They looked at each other wordlessly, two warriors, one aged and tired, the other looking at the inevitable right in the eye. Catelyn gave a small nod and Brienne offered her hand. They shook hands and Catelyn headed for the door. Before leaving, she spoke up.a

“Agent Tarth, there _is_ another life for us. We deserve it too, not just those we swore to protect.” 

And with that, Catelyn Stark was gone. 

 

Gregor Clegane was the first to arrive, along with three of his security personnel. He looked ready to crush Bronn’s skull in his bare hands when the latter told him that Viserys Targaryen had given explicit instructions that only Targaryen Industries guards were to escort him to a holding room. Bronn met his cold, empty eyes and didn’t flinch nor take a step back when the other man took a menacing step toward him, using his superior height and build for intimidation. 

“You’ll pay for this,” he muttered before storming off, Targaryen Industries guards scrambling after him.

With some subtle maneuvering and just the right balance of solemnity and eagerness, Bronn had managed to wrangle the duty of looking out for today’s VIPs. Now he was on the lookout for the next arrival.

Mandon Moore arrived ten minutes after Clegane. Stoic, with the perfect poker face, he betrayed not even the slightest wavering of emotions when Bronn told him he couldn’t bring his personal bodyguards with him. As he walked away with more Targaryen Industries men, Bronn let out the breath he was holding. With Clegane, you knew what was going to happen. Mandon Moore was something else.

The last to arrive was Boros Blount. Weasely-looking, he narrowed his eyes at Bronn upon being told to dispense with his own security, at Viserys’ orders. His glasses only sharpened his unattractive features.

“They’ve been waiting for you, sir,” Bronn said. “Best not to keep Mr. Targaryen waiting.”

“Yes.” Boros answered. “As this one also doesn’t like waiting.”

 

“And our man is in,” Brienne’s voice spoke through the comms. “Now we wait.”

“Copy, Oathkeeper.” Jon said. He turned to the other agents in the van, looking at Oberyn the hardest. “This better work.”

“If Hot Pie can’t hack through the system, no one can. The system Targaryen’s installed can only be attacked from the inside by releasing a virus.” Oberyn told him. “What, you think your underwater idea is any better?”

“I didn’t say it was. It appeared to be our only option.” Jon grunted.

“Until then,” Daario said, looking gravelly at the sunlight. “We have a long wait ahead of us. Let’s hope it doesn’t get too wild in there while we do.”

 

Viserys sighed impatiently as he removed the cufflinks to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. It was new and tailored for this occasion. He had been looking forward to wearing it, to this very day. Of course there many things bound to get in the way.  
Talisa, bless her twisted, little heart, had been dumped in the sea where the sharks were feasting on her eyeballs and cunt now. A pity. She was so giving and game for many things. Her cunt wasn’t as tight as Daenerys’ but the gods bless her tits and her mouth. If only his weepy sister was a willing a student. Now who would blow him like someone born to do it?

As he rolled up his sleeves and licked his lips in anticipation of the gift arriving any second, he surveyed the grounds of Summerhall. Vast and owned by the Targaryens for centuries, it held the promise to Viserys that he was destined to conquer places bigger and better than this. Gone was the formidable, terrifying power of the Targaryen name since the extinction of the last dragons—dragons with skulls smaller than dogs. The Targaryens were now just another family with an empire. He wanted to own empires and families. It was his right as _the_ Targaryen.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

He turned just as the door opened and Daenerys, his deceitful, murderous cunt of a sister was shoved inside. Naked, bruised and scratched, there was a gauze wrapping on her thigh. He’d been told she was shot. Two guards sent her to her knees at his feet. Viserys gestured for the guards to leave.

Glaring at her in disgust, he sneered, “What do you think I should do to you, my dear, sweet sister?”

As he spoke, he reached for the riding crop. He stood over her. "Look at me, you dumb cunt."

Sobbing, Daenerys raised her head.

"I should gouge your eyes out and make you eat them. I should fuck you in the ass and tear you apart from there. How dare you destroy what I've been planning for our family? You fucking ingrate!" Viserys's loafered foot kicked her on the ribs.  
Daenerys crumpled, gasping. "Look at me! This is the dragon awakened, sister. _See my wrath._ Get up! On your feet!" 

Daenerys, shaking and crying, wobbled to her feet. He slapped her.

She crashed against the side table, gasping. He grinned and went to her. 

Then she suddenly straightened up and struck him across the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the layout of Summerhall. Also amped up Viserys' paranoia even more.


	71. Summerhall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never wanted the name, the money and all that comes with it. You only had to ask. Why didn’t you?” She looked at him, pain on every inch of her person. “Why didn’t you trust me enough to ask?”

“Cameras and our other surveillance have been knocked out in the third sector,” Viserys was told as he stood surrounded by monitors and the guards scanning and watching over the rest of Summerhall. “The guards we’ve also sent to our `guests’ have not returned. The last we see of them is this.”

Viserys’ purple eyes were ice as he watched Selwn Tarth shoot at cameras and the lights, his movements swift and agile for an old man. Behind him, Jaime Lannister staggered.

“Where are they?”

“We’ve yet to apprehend them.”

“You lost them.” Viserys snapped. “You lost an old man. When is this the footage from?”

“Three and a half hours ago, sir.”

“If it weren’t for my sister I’d say you’ve completely fucked.” Viserys growled. “Find them. Shoot them on sight.”

“Is that an order sir?”

“You want your tongue ripped out?”

Viserys stormed out of the room, immediately followed by his flunkies. He began barking off instructions.

“Keep an eye out on the idiots in there,” he told them. “I want an update every hour, no matter how insignificant. See to it that my sister’s been given medical attention and she’s ready for our guests. What’s the ETA?”

“Thirteen-hundred hours, sir.”

He nodded. “Show them to the study and have them wait for me there if I couldn't welcome them yet.”

Smirking, Viserys returned to his rooms. He nodded at the guards he had stationed outside the double doors and they opened them. He entered and stared at Daenerys, her gaze absent and her head lolling to the side. 

The spot on his cheek where she had hit him twitched. “How is my sweet sister?”

“What did you give me, Viserys?” She demanded hoarsely.

“Who knows. Just enough that you can’t run away again, enough for you to be lucid when Boros Blount sticks his pig cock in you.” He said, enjoying how her face blanched. He crouched in front of her on the floor and he fingered the soft, delicate dress she was wearing. “Why are you here? You’ll wrinkle your pretty dress.”

“What does it matter?” She grumbled, lurching away from him.

“You’ve been doing so well,” he told her, shaking his head in disappointment. “Why did you have to kill Talisa? Why did you hurt me?”  
“You really don’t know what you’ve done to me?” Tears filled her purple eyes.

“Targaryens of old fucked and married brother and sister. I only did as tradition entails. Being that you’ve not gotten pregnant means fucking you has been naught. You’d have my children now. I need a legacy, sister, and you won’t give it to me. But your cunt is still tight and your mouth is warm. There are men who would be more than content with that.”

“You’re a sick bastard.”

“You’re a whore.”

“You raped me.” Daenerys snarled. “You had them rape me.”

“Because you’re mine and I can do what I want. If I want to share my sister’s wet cunt I can and I have.” He smiled coldly. “And you’ve gotten good reviews. At least your cunt does one thing well.”

Daenerys flinched as he caressed her cheek and he stood up, chuckling. “You’d better hope that Gregor Clegane doesn’t outbid them, sister. I hear he’s broken women with his cock. You haven’t had a monster yet until Gregor Clegane’s between your legs.”

As he headed for the door, she called him.

“Yes, my sweet?”

“I wouldn’t have fought you.”

Viserys nodded in approval. “Yes.”

“For our fucking empire. I’d have given it all to you if you’d just asked.” 

“Don’t fool me, Dany. You don’t give away something as huge as your share of our company.”

“You don’t know me.” Daenerys shakily got to her feet. “I never wanted the name, the money and all that comes with it. You only had to ask. Why didn’t you?” She looked at him, pain on every inch of her person. “Why didn’t you trust me enough to ask?”

Viserys held her gaze for a moment before he turned away. “The time for sentiment has long passed, sister. And if you think all I had to was ask, you don’t know me at all.” 

 

Selwyn ripped off the sleeve of his shirt then glanced at Jaime. He nodded, gritting his teeth as the wide strip of cloth was around his grazed arm to staunch the bleeding. His stomach lurched at how close he’d been shot, that if just a brush of a bullet could burn like an eighth hell, a bullet ripping into the skin and burrowing in muscle and bone was double that. He grunted as Selwyn tied the cloth around him.

“Let’s get moving.” He said, getting to his feet.

“How long have we been hiding and running?” Jaime asked. He was tired to the bone and he couldn’t remember a time when his heart had not been beating so fast. They were walking now but sweat still dripped down the sides of his face and his clothes, even the jeans, have adhered to his skin like another layer. Still, he shuffled after the agent, who probably possessed mutant vision as he was still looking around despite the darkness around them. He had, at least, slowed to a jog so Jaime could still keep up.

“A couple of hours maybe, probably more. They’ve probably discovered the cameras and lights I’ve blown and are looking for us.” Selwyn replied.

“How do we get out of here?”

“We go until we find a door, shoot if we have to, find another door until we’re out of here. What do you take me for? I don’t fucking know where we are.”

Jaime would laugh at Selwyn’s tone if he wasn’t so bloody tired. He imagined this was how Brienne sounded during a mission. Gods. He missed Blue. Why was it taking her so long to rescue him? I’d know if she’s gone, he thought determinedly. She just hasn’t figured out where they were. You’ll have to fight off my kisses when I see you again, Blue. Shame on you for taking so long. It made him smile. 

“We’ll get out of here,” Jaime declared.

“We’d better. Someone has to smash Howland Reed’s teeth in,” Selwyn growled. “That ass-kissing son of a bitch is the reason Alysanne-Wenda’s out. Rather than investigating her accident, Reed thought to focus on me. Like I arranged the damn thing.”

“He does bungle a shitload on the job.”

Selwyn looked at him. “He recruited my daughter, Jaime. I can’t let that pass.”

“How sure are you that it wasn’t Brienne herself who managed to get their attention?” Jaime pointed out.

“Alright, whatever the circumstances, Howland would know by sight she’s my daughter. She carries my name, for crying out loud. Gods, she’s got none of her mother. She’s all me. Howland Reed doesn’t forget, boy. He has his reasons for putting my daughter in this life and that’s not something I will forgive.”

“Brienne wants to serve.” The idea was a bitter one. Brienne had told Jaime that repeatedly—the mission was first, her life was to sacrificed if need be. Not him. Not her heart. It hurt that she’d rather face a hail of bullets than a life with him.“There’s no shaking her.”

“That she surely got from that cursed mother of hers.”

Their jog slowed to a walk. All Jaime heard was the occasional drop of water hitting the ground.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous, beating sound from the world above. Jaime instinctively ducked down while Selwyn pointed one the rifles up, ready for what may be coming. He listened and said, “Helicopter. Someone’s come.”

“Or someone’s leaving. Either way, it doesn’t look good for us.”

 

At exactly one in the afternoon, the helicopter carrying Gregor Clegane, Boros Blount and Mandon Moore landed on the helipad of Summerhall. Viserys Targaryen stood waiting for them, his purple eyes cold and his smile hard. 

“You’d better have one fucking good reason for having us leave our men,” Moore shouted upon reaching him. The helicopter was rising to the sky, its motor still a heavy, thunderous sound. 

“You know them. I don’t.” Was Viserys’ answer. He swept a hand toward the house. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

“I don’t see the point of meeting all of us,” Gregor said as they walked. He snorted at Blount and Moore. “You do not have enough to even come close to matching what I have to offer.”

“This sale better push through now.” Boros Blount said resentfully. “I will not appreciate another interruption, Targaryen. This is your last chance.”

At that, Viserys turned to him. “Last chance, huh?”

Blount looked back at him defiantly. “Your technology isn’t that difficult to duplicate. You just happened to be the first but without Lannister, how will you make any more needed changes?”

“You think it’s Lannister who came up Wildfyre.”

“Your uncle’s discovery but he did nothing. Lannister’s the brains behind your operation, admit it.”

Viserys barely contained his temper. “As reported in the news, he’s indisposed right now. If you’re bothered that some scientist is keeping this all together, you can take your business elsewhere.”

“Now that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean exactly? You’re a fountain of words at the moment, Mr. Blount. This isn’t like you at all.”

“Bugger that.” Gregor snarled. “Let’s get down to business instead of yammering like girls with ribbons.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Viserys told him, pleased. “Follow me, please.”

 

In a van, agents of the Golden Company straightened up in their seats when they heard the unexpected clicking from the screen they have been monitoring. Hot Pie’s chins wobbled excitedly before he turned to check the live video feed. 

“He’s in,” Hot Pie announced. 

Daario positioned himself by the door. “Tell me when I can.”

“Now.” Hot Pie nodded at the screen. “Now.”

Daario spilled out of the van. In his absence, Jon turned to Hot Pie.

“You’re really sure about knocking the power out?”

“Heat signatures is the best way we can estimate how many men are in there. We can’t do that with electricity.” Hot Pie explained.

“Viserys has got to have a back-up system.”

“He does. But we’re knocking out everything. The entire system will reboot in five minutes.”

Catelyn spoke from the back. “That’s a very narrow window.”

“I’m sorry, Director Stark. But it’s all I can guarantee. Any longer and the system will know of the threat. We won’t be able to access it again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just a concern. We’ve been in more difficult situations.” Catelyn looked at the team. “And we always get out.”  
Daario returned to the van minutes later. 

“Blackout delivered, Hot Pie.”

Hot Pie looked positively thrilled. “Really?”

“Is it working?” Catelyn asked, pointing at the monitor. Hot Pie looked at it.

“Better than I hoped.”

And as soon as he said it, alarm bells rang throughout Summerhall.


	72. Fire and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That’s why you are here today, fine gentlemen, to see the ultimate weapon for destruction at work. My demonstration with my former assistant was just the tip of the iceberg. Wildfyre has since been refined and is better than you can imagine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very graphic and dehumanizing scene early in the chapter. You've been warned. If this offends you, please skip to other parts of this latest installment. Thank you.

The screen was so bright that they couldn’t determine right away how many hostiles they’d be facing. Hot Pie mentally photographed the images in clusters and gave them a number. Jon and Catelyn exchanged a look before Jon nodded at the others. There was no turning back.  
The guards at the gate, still confused at the alarms going around Summerhall, were felled to the ground by a swift attack by the Golden Company, Boros Blount blinked several times at the darkness that had fallen in Viserys’ office. Mandon Moore and Gregor Clegane were looking around too while Viserys sat at the head of the table, unmoving.

“Gentlemen,” he said, holding up his hand. “Let’s just stay in our seats. The power will return shortly.”

“You are probably the most inept entrepreneur I’ve ever met,” Mandon Moore sneered at him. He said the word entrepreneur as if spitting. “Something always happens with you. If it’s not fire alarms it’s you fucking up in your attempt to demonstrate Wildfyre smart bullets on the president.” 

“What can I say,” Viserys said, his voice still calm. “The eyes of the world are on me. Pressure can do a lot to a man but that doesn’t mean he should stop trying. You mentioned I’m an entrepreneur, Moore. I like that. I have created a product that no army or government in the world would want others to have. I could have sold this for billions to Westeros. Or Essos. Instead, I’ve come to you. Because I believe in our partnership. I also believe that my product should be handled best by top people in the field.”

As he spoke, faint, emergency lights came on. Viserys nodded. “The generators are at work. The power will be back in a few minutes. Unfortunately, I need electricity to demonstrate successfully just how smart Wildfyre bullets are.” He smirked at Boros Blount. “I think you would appreciate how I do it.”

“The less talk from you the better,” Boros retorted. He held up his phone. “I have people waiting for those, Targaryen. If you didn’t have something I want I would have shot your cock off for wasting my time.”

“Do I waste time?” Viserys stood up and strolled toward a door. “As it is, I just have the thing to entertain you. It’s an incentive, really. I have no doubt you would be fighting like animals over what my smart bullets can do after the demonstration. But right now, allow me to give you a taste of what comes with them should your bid succeed.” 

He opened the door.

A guard shoved Daenerys toward him. Still drugged and barely lucid, she slumped heavily against Viserys. He smiled and urged her to face them. His hands were tender as he brushed tendrils of her silver-blond hair away from her face, his purple eyes cold as hers were devastated.

Slowly, he undressed her. The men licked their lips at the sight of her beautiful face and violet eyes, and their breathing quickened upon seeing her full, creamy breasts with taut nipples, small waist and round curving hips. Viserys chuckled as she squirmed uselessly, trying to push him away but he didn’t have to exert much effort to keep her still. Free from her dress, he caught Gregor Clegane’s hungry stare and said, “May I present my sweet sister Daenerys. She is here to share her sweetness to the deserving. And she a lot to offer. A lot.” He chuckled. “Come and see what she has to offer. You may touch but she will only be truly yours if you get the Wildfyre.” 

Daenerys whimpered, her tongue thick and heavy that she couldn’t form words coherently. She shrank against Viserys as Gregor Clegane stood up, and went to them. Viserys yanked her arms behind her, thrusting her forward. 

“She’s small,” Gregor said, his huge hands playing with her breasts. Daenerys cried out when he suddenly pinched her nipples. He smiled. “She a screamer?”

“Especially when you fuck her in the ass,” Viserys said. 

“She looks like she’ll break if I fuck her,” Gregor said, smiling menacingly as his hand lowered to her cunt. He spread the lips and shoved a finger roughly in her dry channel. She sobbed and struggled again. He pumped his finger. “Tight. Her ass would be tighter, yes?”

“Tightest thing in the world.”

Viserys continued to hold Daenerys against him, laughing as she struggled and pulled as Mandon Moore played with her next. He glanced at Viserys over her shoulder as he cupped her breasts. Viserys nodded and Mandon wrapped his lips around her nipple. "She feels good, doesn't she? Nipples like the softest silk. She likes them to be bitten."

“Stop,” Daenerys slurred as Mandon raised his head to suck at her other nipple. “No.”

“Someone should cut your tongue out,” Mandon said, straightening up and looking at her hungrily. “But I would like it if you scream when I fuck you. Such a small thing. You wouldn’t want Clegane fucking you, girl.” 

“She might not,” Clegane agreed, smirking. “But if she gets your cock it’s just nothing. Small as she is she won’t even feel it.” He suddenly slapped Boros Blount on the shoulder. “Go on, have a taste.”

Boros stood up, his eyes raking at the woman crying in her brother’s arms. He took one step forward.

As he did, gunshots exploded from a distance.

“What the fuck?” Mandon demanded as more gunfire sounded. The doors suddenly burst open and Targaryen guards went for Viserys. “Sir, we have to secure you.”

“What’s happening?” Viserys demanded, clutching Daenerys to his front. The gunshots were getting louder.

“Summerhall is under attack, sir.”

“Then put an end to it,” Viserys growled. “That’s why we have no power. Get it back on. As you can see, we are in the middle of discussing something very important.” 

“But sir—“

_“Get out.”_

Reluctantly, the guards left. Mandon Moore, however, was still cowering under the table. “Targaryen, you’re putting us in danger.”

“Outside is an army of guards who will die for me. The windows are bulletproof. Unless whoever’s attacking has a rocket, we’re safe. Get out from under the table, Moore. My sister has bigger balls than you.” Viserys ordered. As he spoke, the lights came back on. He smiled. “At last! Now on to the demonstration.” 

He opened the door from which Daenerys had been waiting and practically threw her at a guard waiting there. “Keep her wet,” Viserys told the smirking man, who was already pawing at Daenerys’ breasts and trying to shove his tongue in her mouth. Daenerys was limp from the sedative but conscious enough to know what horror was going to be unleashed on her again. The last Viserys saw of her as the door shut were her terrified eyes before she was shoved facedown on a bed.

Viserys turned to his guests, once again assuring them that they were safe. He fired up the laptop, glancing behind him to check if the screen had begun to flash to live video feed. Good. Delayed but everything was going to be fine.

“What you’re looking out is the dungeons of Summerhall,” he explained. “It’s a vast network and has not been completely mapped. As we speak, our two subjects are, shall we say, knowing the lay of the land as fast as they can. They don’t know what’s coming for them, you see. That’s why you are here today, fine gentlemen, to see the ultimate weapon for destruction at work. My demonstration with my former assistant was just the tip of the iceberg. Wildfyre has since been refined and is better than you can imagine.” He withdrew a pouch from his pocket and gently spilled the Wildfyre bullets onto his palm. 

“Pretty things,” he said, playing with the emerald-coloured smart bullets in his palms before passing them around. “Like jewels for a woman’s ears. What you’re holding are Wildfyre smart bullets. Now, we’re all familiar with what they are but you don’t know what mine does. A former associate secured for me the medical records of prominent Westerosi. You saw a lukewarm demonstration of that a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, President Tyrell is alive.”

“Enough talk, Targaryen,” Blount cut in impatiently, glaring at every smart bullet like a disapproving jeweler. “What makes your bullets better, eh?”

Viserys smiled slowly. “The medical records I have are very extensive. They cover everything from your family’s medical history, your medication, possible diseases you may have in the future and the like. Including DNA. If I may have them back?” He held out his palm to Blount.

Blount, still with a sour expression on his face, did as he asked. Viserys looked at them reverently and continued, dreamily, “Keep your eyes on the screen. That’s from a nano camera built inside one Wildfyre smart bullet. Right now, it’s tracking by DNA a very important subject.” He glanced back at the screen. “Hopefully, we’ll see him in a bit.”

 

Jaime couldn’t see. He had tripped and fallen on the puddled ground more times than he’d been upright and trying to do what could probably pass for running. He had no idea how much time had passed since Selwyn had reluctantly deemed they rest. The feeling that they were just running in circles and going nowhere was getting worse but he didn’t dare ask that. They were in a shit situation already. Upstairs was something that sounded like the nonstop rattle of gunshots. All they needed was for the ceiling to crash and bury them alive.  
Due to doors or walls suddenly sealing them, they’d been forced onto a route that brought them in what was clearly the sewer system—or it was nearby. The air was thick with shit and probably that of a hundred rotting flesh. Jaime fought the bile welling in his throat and needing to explode out of his mouth, unwilling to resign himself to the idea of his own vomit swirling around them. 

“We should have gotten a flashlight from one of the guards,” he huffed after Selwyn. He heard Selwyn walking quite a head.

“You should have. I was busy keeping us alive. Watch your step—“ A splash. “We’re in the water. Or piss. Or liquid shit. It’s up to my knees.”  
“Seven bloody hells and here I was thinking things couldn’t possibly be any worse,” Jaime complained, stumbling after him. It was useless trying to see because it was so fucking dark but he kept his head down anyway, eyes on his feet as he moved through the water. 

He bumped against Selwyn, who remained unmoving. “What is it?” Jaime asked, trying to look past his shoulder.

Selwyn must have pointed because he said. “Over there. It looks like light.”

Jaime looked and grinned. “It fucking is.”

They must have looked at each other before picking up their feet and running toward it. The closer they got, the brighter the slender beam of light became. They turned at the corner and were slammed with a sudden brightness. Jaime flung a hand over his eyes, grimacing as light burned in his sockets momentarily before his vision cleared. It wasn’t just light. It was blue sky. Sunlight. Water. 

And a fucking speedboat.

 

By the time the Golden Company had eliminated half of the Targaryen security, Summerhall was riddled with bullets. Dead bodies and those barely alive littered the ground as Jon Snow led the team in the assault. 

It was a war zone. The air was thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder. As the doors were flung open and the Golden Company surged inside the castle, they found themselves engaged in another gunfight. Jon shouted orders that they secure themselves before firing back. One by one, bodies fell until they carpeted the floor. They remained in their hiding places for a few more minutes before Jon gave the all clear. Speaking through comms, he demanded, “Hot Pie, have you located Damsel and Cipher?” Cipher was Selwyn’s old call sign.

“No. With the power back it’s hard to detect them now. But Faceless is still with the others,” Hot Pie answered. “He’s keeping things hot in the room. East wing.”

Catelyn stepped beside Jon. He told her, “We’ll have to split. Secure the Dragon, we’ll find the others.” 

“Viper, Ranger,” she said, glancing at Oberyn and then at Edd. “With me.”

The team split, each led by Jon and Catelyn. She climbed up the stairs first while the men trailed after her, eyes alert and fingers ready to squeeze the trigger in case of surprises. Following Hot Pie’s instructions, she brought the team to the inner recesses of Summerhall until they were standing in front of the door of Viserys Targaryen’s study. The men flanking her, she whispered, “Wait.”

But she pointed her rifle at the door. They did the same.

As soon as she raised it, a loud, pained cry came from one of the rooms. The agents whirled around, eyes scanning for the source as another cry came. With his eyes, Edd signaled that the sound was coming from a door two feet to his right. Catelyn nodded and walked toward it, rifle still hoisted to her shoulder. Their booted feet made no sound on the cold stone floor.

Another cry. More communication with eyes followed before Catelyn took a deep breath and kicked the door open. She followed right after, her eyes widening at the tear-stained face of a blond woman in bed, naked and on all fours as a Targaryen guard forced himself on her.  
She would recognize the silver-blond hair and purple eyes anywhere. Stunned that the missing Daenerys Targaryen was right before their eyes and getting violated in the most horrible, dehumanizing way, Catelyn fired.

 

Selwyn fired up the boat and Jaime, who was crouched down, lurched forward, his injured shoulder ramming hard on the side. He cursed loudly, painfully and Selwyn threw an apology over his shoulder as he gunned the boat. They shot out of the dungeons and toward the water, toward the sun. Freedom.

_Brienne._

Thinking of eyes bluer than the spotless sky above them gave Jaime the strength to rise, ignoring the burning and cramping in his calves. He gripped a bar as they left their prison behind. He turned around, seeing for the first time what it looked like. Fuck the gods, they were in Summerhall. Jaime’s eyes darkened and he wondered if he should tell Selwyn to turn around so he could dig out Viserys’ eyeballs with his bare hands. Somebody should fuck that son of a bitch in the ass, he thought, thinking of what Viserys had done to him and the people associated with him. Arthur. Renly. _Brienne._

Most of all to Brienne.

He staggered just a little behind Selwyn, shielding his eyes from the spray of salty water. Selwyn glanced at him. “We’ll get that examined in the hospital then we’re calling the cops.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Jaime agreed. He straightened up so he could pat Selwyn on the back. “Thank you, Selwyn. You saved my life.”

He removed his arm and sat down again. As he did, he felt something hot whiz by his cheek. It felt like a lash. He quickly touched the burn on his face and felt something wet. Blood. Blood, what the fuck? He thought, staring at his finger. He turned to Selwyn to speak but the agent suddenly slumped toward the wheel. The boat suddenly swerved as his body forced the wheel to make a hard turn. Jaime held on as the boat whooshed violently.

Selwyn fell to the floor. When his body turned on his back, Jaime saw blood oozing from his chest. Green smoke rose from the wound.

 

At the moment that Catelyn put a bullet between the Targaryen guard’s eyes, a shot rang out from the screen that Viserys Targaryen was watching with Boros Blount, Gregor Clegane and Mandon Moore. Suddenly, they saw light, then a blue sky. Soon after, it was zooming in on two figures on boat, their features getting clearer. 

Jaime Lannister, the sleeve of his shirt bloody, rose to pat the man behind the wheel on the shoulder. The smart bullet zoomed forward but just as it was about to sink into his body, he moved away. It grazed him on the cheek before burying itself in the back of the other man.  
The men in the room jerked at the gunshot. Viserys frowned. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

Suddenly, Boros Blount shot to his feet. They turned around and saw him rip off his mask, revealing the hard, narrow face of a man with dark blond hair and laser-like gray eyes. He quickly shot Gregor Clegane in the throat, Mandon Moore in the heart before turning to Viserys Targaryen. 

Realizing what was happening, Viserys shouted for his men and ran to the door—which suddenly burst open and struck him right in the nose. He screamed in pain as Catelyn Stark and the rest of the Golden Company entered the room, their rifles pointed at him.

“Arms up,” Catelyn ordered Viserys, who glared at her defiantly. Her stare unwavering, she repeated, “Arms in the air and slowly get down on your knees, then on the floor.”

“Fuck you.” Viserys spat. 

“Arms up!” Catelyn snarled. “Me not shooting you is the last ounce of undeserved mercy you’ll get for what you’ve done.”

“I’m a dragon, you bitch,” Viserys yelled. “I don’t need mercy!”

Then he attacked her. Catelyn pressed the trigger and painted the wall red with it.

Viserys crashed to the ground, the top half of his face blown, leaving only blood and pulp. Catelyn lowered her rifle and stared down at him, her face unreadable. 

“Executioner,” Jaqen said, his voice just above a whisper. He still held the mask that was Boros Blount’s face. When Catelyn continued to stare at Viserys’ mangled face, he said, still as softly but more firmly, “Catelyn. Director Stark.”

She looked up. Her blue eyes gleamed with tears she refused to shed.

From behind the men, Daenerys Targaryen moved. She was clad in a robe and was walking gingerly. Edd tried to stop her, saying gently, “Ma’am, you shouldn’t see this.” 

She shook her head. “Let me through.”

Catelyn moved aside to let her see what remained of Viserys. Daenerys stared at the blood that continued to drip from his blown head. 

“My brother,” she whispered. “He deserved worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, what I put here about nano cameras and smart bullets were pulled out of my ass. Would love to hear your comments!
> 
> ____  
> An update at laaaaaast! I'm so sorry but work is crazy right now as well as my personal life. But starting this week, I'll be resuming my regular updating schedule. At least, you won't have to wait this long anymore. 
> 
> I also owe you a Jaime and Brienne reunion scene. I'm super-excited for what you'll say about it. Yep. It's coming! 
> 
> Thank you for your patience. If you're interested to read more of my work, I have the ongoing The Lannisters Are Coming and The Affair series.


	73. A Long, Hard Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I should kill you right where you stand because you don’t deserve breathe for another minute. But you should be haunted by your choices. When you’re in the Black Cells, I want you to sleep thinking of the bullet hole between my son’s eyes. I want you to have nightmares of Renly’s screams as he was burned alive. I want you to be paralyzed with the pain of losing your child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things to look out for:  
> 1\. Major character death.  
> 2\. Sort of Catelyn-heavy.  
> 3\. We find out about Renly.

Mere hours after the operation at Summerhall, Catelyn had replaced her combat gear with a dark suit and a white silk blouse and pearls on her ears. There was little time to get completely cleaned up so there was still the faint whiff of gunpowder, smoke and blood trailing after her as she was ushered into the Rose Room.

President Olenna Tyrell rose from her seat behind her rosewood desk, her eyes sharp yet tired. She walked around and gestured for Catelyn to sit on the sofa then followed her briefly.

“I saw and heard everything,” Olenna began. She paused then said, “What has happened to the cache of Wildfyre weapons?”

“Too many. It will be a while before everything is accounted for,” Catelyn admitted. “There is also a vast amount of financial records. We hope that what our agent witnessed was Viserys Targaryen’s first attempt to sell Wildfyre.”

“I saw what you did to him.”

The two women looked at each other. Catelyn held her breath.

“That cunning little worm deserved more than getting his brains splattered on the floor, Director Stark,” Olenna said, unable to stop the shudder in her voice. “What he’d done. To you. Your agents. To his sister. The poor girl.”

Robb, Catelyn thought. Her heart would never be whole. Brienne, who had barely survived. Her father. Renly. Jon fighting for his life on the operating table right his very moment. And Daenerys. As an agent for more than twenty years, Catelyn had seen more than enough to give her nightmares and haunt her forever but nothing would ever erase the image of Daenerys being brutalized. She was still being treated and tested. The medical report on her had been three pages long when Catelyn swung by the hospital to check on her agents. She barely made it to the toilet where she threw up, sickened that someone could do this to another human being. 

Too many lives had been sacrificed to stop Viserys Targaryen’s madness. And none of them had to. That was the most painful, the most bitter thought of all. None of them had to. For all her training and expertise, her bravery and the fear her old reputation as Lady Executioner still brought, she had not been able to stop any of it.

“Seems you’ve cleaned the house, Director Stark,” Olenna Tyrell said in her normal, shrewd voice. “Too perfectly. Leaving a little dirt would do us good, you know.”

“Viserys Targaryen masterminded it all,” Catelyn said. “But the research and the subsequent weaponization of Wildfyre could have been prevented if the operation launched three years ago ended at that. My agents succeeded in that mission.”

“The Golden Company is not being blamed.”

“I know. But you mentioned that the housework we’ve done is too perfect. It’s not.”

“What are you saying?” 

Catelyn’s eyes were cold. “There’s still vermin.”

Olenna was thoughtful. “I wonder if we think of the same vermin.”

“Fortunately, or not, there is only one of his kind.” 

 

_“He’s been singed from the inside.”_

_“The team are doing everything they can to save your father.”_

_“His will to live is strong and with all our efforts, there may be hope.”_

Brienne stared helplessly at the closed doors of the operating room. Selwyn had been there for hours. Hours. She had no idea how long exactly. 

From the moment she received word that the mission on Summerhall had suffered injuries and casualties on both sides, she had quickly alerted the nearest, WCA-sanctioned hospital. She ran out of the offices of the Golden Company, ignoring the growing stitch on her side. Within minutes of her arrival, the team began to arrive.

Jon was the first to be wheeled in. He was breathing through an apparatus, his ghastly struggles for air loud and haunting as he was wheeled past her. Three knives protruded from his chest. Brienne would have run after him if not for the next person being wheeled toward her. She recognized the thick cap of white-blond hair immediately and wept in horror and disbelief. It was her Dad. _Her Dad._

Since then, she had not thought of anything else. She didn’t care about the other agents who have been injured and certainly didn’t bother with those injured on the side of the enemy. She barely noticed Daario dropping beside her on the bench, still in his black combat gear and smelling of gunpowder, dust on his hair and all over. He leaned against the wall and let out a loud sigh, startling Brienne.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

She nodded, willing the sudden kick in her heart to slow down and stared back at the doors.

“How long have you been here?” He suddenly asked. “Jon was just put in a private room. I thought you’d be there.”

“I don’t know. Since everyone arrived.”

Daario narrowed his eyes. “Tarth, we’ve been here for close to ten hours. You were here this whole time?” 

“That’s my dad in there.”

Daario stared at the doors and nodded. “I know.” Taking note of her pale face, he demanded, “You’ve had anything to eat?”

“I’m not hungry. I don’t need anything.”

“Your baby does. Stay here. I’ll go get you something.” He stood up.

“There’s no need—“

“In case you don’t know yet, and clearly you don’t, Jaime’s being kept overnight. He’s fine but has several cracked ribs, a cracked skull and there’s some infection from when his fingernails were pulled off. He also needed stitching up. You might want to see him.” Daario retorted before he shuffled away. 

_Jaime._ For the first time, something penetrated through the haze of her thoughts. Jaime. _He's here._

In response to this, something fluttered in her belly. Brienne started. The baby was no bigger than a finger. Impossible. But as she stared after the space where Daario had disappeared, thinking that Jaime was down there, somewhere, there it was again. An eager, familiar flutter. Butterflies and fireflies in her stomach. _Jaime was here._

Torn between staying for another update from the head surgeon and running down the hallway and finding Jaime, she was given an answer a few moments later. The double doors of the operating room burst open and the surgeon who had been speaking to her, Dr. Luwin, came out. As before, his face was still grim and betrayed nothing else.

“My Dad—“

“He fought hard, Agent Tarth.” Dr. Luwin told her. “I’m so sorry.”

Shaking her head, she stuttered, “Y-You said. . .you said there’s hope—“

Her words came out in gasps as tears fell. She collapsed on the bench and Dr. Luwin sat beside her as she heaved and tried to swallow the sobs tearing at her throat. She started to shake, her mind refusing to digest the news that her dad, her wonderful, kind dad was gone. Gone.  
She was alone.

Even as Dr. Luwin put a hand on her shoulder and tried to calm her, there was no stopping her anguished cry. 

 

That evening, the leading news story was the successful rescue of Jaime Lannister. As Olenna Tyrell addressed the nation, Howland Reed poured himself his best whiskey. He glanced up at the words “success,” “heroic rescue effort,” “safety” and “security” 

He turned off the television and sat down, his glass of whiskey still untouched. He was about to take a sip when the doorbell rang.  
When he opened the door, Catelyn Stark was standing there.

“Good evening, Howland.”

“What brings you here, Cat?”

“Can I come in?”

He stepped aside. She shook her head at his offer to take her coat. “I won’t be long. I came here because despite our differences, we were once allies. And in your own skewed perception, you do fight for this country. When it suits you.”

“What are you talking about this time, Cat?”

“Viserys Targaryen knew all along that Jaime Lannister was your plant. He knew about Renly, he knew about Arthur. Worst of all, you knew about this and let him murder an agent and an innocent civilian. The first of your long list of crimes.”

Howland scoffed. “I have no idea what you speak about.”

“We managed to take Summerhall undamaged and as crazy as Viserys is, he was really good with keeping records.” Catelyn stepped forward and Howland took a step back, causing her to smirk. “There is more than enough to bury you as a conspirator. You stole information about Wildfyre and gave it to Viserys, promising him immense wealth should he see through weaponizing it. He has records of your dealings with the Essosi government—“

“Lies!”

“—primarily. But when they couldn’t cough up the money you demanded you turned your attention to the Sons of Harpy. You promised them first choice when Wildfyre becomes weaponized but you backed out of the deal after my team were attacked. Because we were getting close—“

“You dare to slander me in my own home?”

“It’s not slander if it’s the truth, Howland.”

“Even if I did betray my country who will believe you?” 

“You’re right. Who will? Everyone who can attest to that is either dead or maimed. Wenda can’t walk because her daughter blew out of her kneecaps. But I think if in exchange for her testimony we give her some small ounce of comfort, she will sing like a canary. I’m just supposing. She’s been having nightmares since Agent Tarth shot her repeatedly. Selwyn Tarth was always suspicious about you, again, thanks to Wenda’s intel that was recorded by Viserys. Lucky for you, he just died on the operating table—thanks to a Wildfyre smart bullet.”

She stepped forward again. Howland reared back.

“Your choices led to the murder of my son. I may have been the one to shoot him but you—your choices created that situation. You’re the reason why I might lose another member of my team tonight. The very enemy we were fighting against was just right in front of us. We’ve always known but what kind of enemy you are, we didn’t until now. I should kill you right where you stand because you don’t deserve breathe for another minute. But you should be haunted by your choices. When you’re in the Black Cells, I want you to sleep thinking of the bullet hole between my son’s eyes. I want you to have nightmares of Renly’s screams as he was burned alive. I want you to be paralyzed with the pain of losing your child.” She seized him by the throat, enjoying his fluttering moss-green eyes. “I should murder Meera right before your eyes, just so you’ll know how it feels for me.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not a monster. And I need you to confess.” She let go of him, watching with satisfaction as he doubled over, gasping and coughing. She stared at him, waiting until he straightened up. But Howland instead lunged for her. Catelyn shoved him back against the wall and when he opened his eyes, he was staring into the dark eye of her gun.

“Kill me.” He shouted. “Kill me!”

“I’m thinking of recommending Jon for my post when he’s better.” Catelyn continued as if they were having a normal conversation. “He’s harsher and colder than me. Do you know that he also has a video of your daughter getting fucked by two men? Seems to be her special kink. If you don’t confess to all the charges, that video will be released. You and your daughter will never be able to hold your heads up again. It will be released all over. You will have nowhere to go. But if you confess--”

“I don’t believe you.”

Catelyn pulled out a thumb drive from her pocket and threw it at him. “Watch it then. Spirited little thing. Don’t worry. We have copies.”

“Fuck you.”

“I hope you are more eloquent when you confess, Howland.” She said, turning away to head for the door. “Even if you kill yourself, the world will still know, and you know what people would think? That you’re a fucking coward of a cunt. There’s really no way out of this Howland. You will have to pay for the lives you took.” 

 

Jaime was restless. He had been ever since he was brought to this room and informed that he was going to be kept overnight just to make sure he’d live. None of the doctors or nurses would listen as he pointed out that he survived days without fingernails, cracked ribs and a cracked skull without any debilitating or deadly repercussions. When he changed his tune and demanded for information regarding Selwyn Tarth, they ignored him too, with one nurse tersely reminding him he wasn’t family.

“His daughter is my fiancée,” he lied. “I should be told.”

“Then your fiancée will tell you.”

But the drugs they gave him would put him in either deep sleep or extreme alertness once they wore off. He blinked at the darkness around him, broken only by the thin frame of light by the door and the glow of the monitor monitoring his vitals. Impatiently, he yanked at the tubes and cords running up and around him until he was free. Then he staggered to the door, throwing it open and shocking the agent standing guard.

“Mr. Lannister,” the man told him. “You’d best get back to bed.”

“I’m rested,” he snapped. “What time is it?”

“It’s two in the morning, sir.”

Shit. He’d been out for hours. And hours before that, when the nurse came in to inject him with another shot of the sedative.

“Has Agent Tarth come in to see me?” He demanded.

“Er, no, sir,” the guard replied. 

“Does she know I’m here?”

“I don’t know. But her father died, sir,” the agent said, looking at him as if he had three heads and counting. 

A block of ice settled in his stomach. He died because of me. It didn’t take a genius to explain Brienne’s absence.

“Where is she?”

The agent looked confused. “Sir, I have my orders to ensure you remain in the room and get some rest—“

“If you don’t tell me where Agent Tarth is, I’m going to raise hell and you’ll be relieved not just of your duty but also of your job,” Jaime growled. “Tell me where Agent Tarth is.” He had to explain to her. Apologize. Beg for forgiveness. _Brienne, I would have taken that bullet. It was meant for me._

“Agent Naharis drove her home, if I’m not mistaken. He was here to check on you and told me they were going home.”

Jaime looked at him from head to toe. Scrawny. The guy didn’t look like he’d survive doing a deadlift. “What’s your name?”

“Tollett.” The agent replied. “I’m Agent Edd Tollett.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“Er, no, sir.”

“Fuck the Seven, what good are you?” 

 

Spent and with every tear squeezed out of her, Brienne tumbled out of the hospital’s non-denominational prayer room. Her exhaustion went right to her soul that it was only sheer will keeping her upright.

After Dr. Luwin gave her the bad news, Daario appeared with a bottle of water and a sandwich. He didn’t need to ask what happened. Brienne had struggled, wailing loudly, hitting Daario as he pulled her up from her seat, hugging her and desperately trying to give her the comfort she had no interest in receiving. He eventually got her to quiet down, talking through her that she couldn’t let herself be destroyed like this. Her father wouldn’t like it. Her baby needed her. She was still crying when he hauled her to the cafeteria and there proceeded to feed her the sandwich in little chunks. Strange, curious looks were given to them, especially with the way Daario was still dressed and the dried blood on his forehead, her face red and streaked with tears. He got her another sandwich, still tasteless on a mouth and tongue thick with sobs and tears. He made sure she finished the bottle of milk he got her before asking if she wanted to go home.

She shook her head. “I have arrangements to make.”

Daario looked like he wanted to bang his head on the table. He should have told her she was going home instead of asking her what she wanted to do. But Brienne’s stare was steely and she looked menacing still with the bandage on her cheek, her stuffed nose and the red-purple bruises around her eyes. It was clear he could either leave her alone or go with her. So he went with her as she proceeded to sign up forms for the autopsy of Selwyn’s body, the release forms for when the autopsy would be done. Daario gave the person in charge a hostile look at the mountain of forms required of Brienne to scale through when she should be mourning her father. 

Through it all, Daario kept giving her concerned looks. She had eaten but had little to no rest since Wenda’s interrogation. He clocked in that Brienne had been awake for nearly seventy-two hours straight. But the woman had Valyrian steel casing around her skull. The only way to get her to stop was to knock her out but there wasn’t anywhere that Daario could hit her that wouldn’t hurt her more or potentially harm her baby. 

Finally, Brienne finished with the forms. Daario told her he was taking her home. 

“Can I. ..Can I have a moment to myself first?” She asked him, her voice small and plaintive, so unlike the mighty agent that survived falling from a building and crashing right on the roof of a car. He nodded and took her to the prayer room. She went inside and closed the door, clearly indicating she was to be left alone no matter what. Daario went to Agent Tollett to inform him about Agent Tarth and also checked on Jaime. Tollett informed him that the nurses were complaining about the stubbornness of the handsome lion that the sedative that should last him through the night kept wearing off. Apparently, he would demand to leave every time he woke up. Or asked for Brienne. 

Daario was waiting for Brienne outside of the prayer room. She nodded at him and together, they walked down the hall. As they did, they overheard a loud argument from one of the hallways they were passing through.

“--tomorrow you will see her—“

“Fucking right I am,” growled a very familiar voice. “I’m fine. I don’t need to be treated like a caged animal over some fucking broken ribs—“

“There’s nothing you can do—“

“You get Agent Tarth—“

Brienne looked at Daario, who sighed and said, “Let me handle this.”

But she stopped him with a hand to his chest. There was once again the familiar flutter in her belly. She took a few steps back and turned around the corner.

There, in the middle of the hallway, arguing loudly yet still looking like a half a god in spite of his pale skin and shapeless hospital gown, was Jaime Lannister. His words were flaying poor Agent Tollett alive. For a moment, Brienne watched him, just content to see him and listen to him demand for her. The desperation in his voice stroked a chord in her, summoned the secret song of her heart.

His words from what felt like a lifetime ago hit her like a tidal wave: _“I’m hunting you down and taking you back to where you belong, Brienne Tarth. With me. You belong with me. I will return to my family. But know that as soon as this shit blows over I’m having you.”_

“Do you know where she lives?” Jaime was yelling at Agent Tollett. 

Tollett glared at him. “Er, no, sir.”

Jaime actually snarled. “Fuck the Seven, what good are you?”

Brienne walked toward them, hissing in frustration because her limp slowed her down. “Jaime,” she was whispering, she realized. Speaking louder, she repeated, “Jaime.”

Jaime and Agent Tollett turned around. “Agent Tarth,” Agent Tollett went to her but she held up her hand to stop him. She continued toward Jaime, her blue eyes locked on his green gaze.

It took him a moment to realize she was real—he had a glazed, deer-in-the headlights look. Then he was storming toward her, his bare feet pounding hard on the cold floor. “Jaime,” she said his name again, as if he was her very breath just before his arms swooped around her waist and she threw her own around his shoulders. He grunted in pain as her body slammed against him and she quickly pulled away—or she was but he gripped her, shaking his head vehemently. “I don’t care. I’m not letting go, Blue.”

 _Blue._ It had been so long. 

“Jaime,” she whispered, tears leaking from her eyes as she pulled slightly away to look at him. His jaw was set so tightly she feared it would crack. Her fingers fluttered to the rasp of his beard and he groaned, leaning hungrily into her touch. “Brienne.”

Their lips crashed against each other. Teeth knocked against the other, lips were bitten by accident but still they kissed, hungrily, carnally. Brienne cried out as she was slammed against the wall, the back of her head taking the brunt of it but Jaime kept kissing her so she forgot the pain. She forgot everything else but his breath against her tongue, his tongue on her tongue, his fingers gripping her hair tightly, painfully. She responded to his kisses with equal fervor.

Then suddenly, he was ripping his mouth away from her. He was panting, as was she. Then she remembered where they were. Remembered who else was around. As embarrassment warmed her cheeks, Jaime gave her a rough, small smile and yanked her by the hand away from the wall. She stared, dazedly, as he brought her to the door of his room, listened with her heart beating so loudly in her ears as he ordered Agent Tollett not to disturb them for any reason or he’ll have Brienne throw him out the window. 

Brienne would shake her head but Jaime threw the door open and shoved her inside. He slammed it close and leaned toward her, smoothly making her forget the rest of the world except for the fire in his emerald eyes, his warm, hard body pressing against her. 

She ran her hands up his chest, her touch light and reverent, even fearful. He was all she had left. After everything there was still someone. “Jaime.”

Then he kissed her. 

For now, she could believe that her world had not come to an end. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Olenna knew what was happening. Off-book, she's told about the Golden Company's plan Viserys' intention to sell the Wildfyre. They offer to let her listen in and watch the operation. I didn't show that anymore because the story will still be as it is whether I include it or not.
> 
> 2\. Some of you thought that Renly was still alive since his body was never recovered. Renly has always been dead when I started writing this, and felt that to bring him back (which I was very resistant to) would make this too much of a soap opera. The plan was for the team to find out how he died, the manner of which would explain why there's no body. Has Brienne been told? I'm not sure.
> 
> 3\. This chapter focuses on Catelyn because she needed closure regarding Robb--or at least, some semblance of it. She didn't go Stoneheart but she came close. 
> 
> 4\. Jon gets stabbed because he got separated from the team after they've split. Sorry. Coudn't resist. 
> 
> 5\. We're nearing the end. Yet I couldn't resist a little more J/B drama with Jaime feeling guilt about Selwyn taking the Wildfyre bullet for him.
> 
> 6\. Catelyn's line about vermin was inspired by Uma Thurman's character in Kill Bill. Howland's line about getting slandered in his home comes from Yohn Royce in Season 6 episode 4. Then her line about it not being slander when it's true is from the Tyrion and Cersei exchange in Season 2. :-)


	74. No Hiding from the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They may be the hands that created Wildfyre into the weapon it had become but they had also touched her and loved her as if she was someone deserving of nothing but only what was good and sweet. Tears flowed from her eyes as she kissed each finger. Kisses healed, she wanted to believe.

Tossing and turning through the night brought Catelyn very little sleep. She would drift off and there was Robb as a child, sweet and beautiful. She felt warm as he gave her a toothy smile. It would be a good dream if not for the bleeding bullet hole growing between his eyes. Her shout was torn from her dry throat. Panting, she stared uncomprehendingly with wide eyes in the dark. Ned continued to sleep peacefully beside her. 

When she fell asleep and was once again confronted by her dead son’s angelic, bleeding face, Catelyn had enough. She shoved the sheets aside and stalked to the bathroom.

She was reaching for her purse when Ned suddenly stirred awake. “Cat?” He mumbled and she heard him moving in the dark, the sheets rustling and the bedframe straining under his movements. Catelyn stilled as Ned flicked on the bedside lamp and squinted at her through the glare. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, coughed, and asked, “What’s going on? You’re dressed for work. What time is it?”

“Too early. I’m sorry I woke you.” Catelyn replied, going over to kiss him on the cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

His gray eyes clear now, he sighed and caressed her cheek. “Cat, this has been going on for a while. I’m worried.”

She didn’t answer. He was right. She had been unable to sleep since coming home, haunted by Robb and still hearing the gunfire in Targaryen Industries. Howland Reed’s looming arrest was small conciliation but it did little in denting the restlessness that plagued her. So she pulled his hand away, straightened up and draped her scarf around her neck.

“I have to go.”

“Come back to bed.” He was pleading.

Catelyn shook her head. “I have to go,” she repeated before turning away.

She drove to the hospital. The sun had begun to rise when she pulled up in a parking slot. Her phone was ringing. Pulling it from her bag, she saw that Ned was calling. Her eyes stared dully at his name before her finger swiped to ignore the call. 

Inside the hospital, she scanned for a vending machine. She just pressed a random button and reached for the can that dropped to the bottom. The soda was cold and liquid sugar, making her wince as if in pain but she drank all of it. She sent it crushed to the bin and took the elevator. 

The Golden Company had sealed off a floor for the protection of the patients there. Catelyn showed her ID to a WCA agent before she was signaled to move on. Edd Tollett acknowledged her with a quick nod as she walked past him. 

There were two guards stationed outside of Daenerys Targaryen’s room. They straightened up and greeted her as she paused before the door. “Doctor’s in there with her, Ma’am,” one of them said as he opened the door.

Dr. Ygritte Wildling glanced at the door as Catelyn entered. “Director Stark,” she greeted her softly then resuming filling out the chart.  
Daenerys was fast asleep. Pale and looking small, Catelyn was astounded with how fragile she looked. Five years she had endured her brother’s abuse and who knows what else. Five years and she had managed to survive. Ygritte watched as Catelyn pulled the blanket high on the young woman's chest.

“How is she?”

“Not out of the woods yet.” Ygritte finished filling out the chart then put it back in the slot at the foot of the bed. “If you would follow me?”

They left the room. Ygritte led Catelyn to the end of the hall, away from the prying eyes and curious ears of the guards. Her red hair hung back in a limp braid and she looked pale and tired. But her blue-gray eyes looked at Catelyn steadily, as if assessing her then finding that the older woman would suit. Catelyn crossed her arms.

“Her body has taken so much abuse.” Ygritte began. “She has lacerations and tearing in and around her vagina and anus. She’s going to need some reconstructive surgery but I want to treat her diseases first.” She was grim. “She has four. All venereal. She will also need to be tested every year for five years until she’s in the clear, just to rule out the possibility of more. You are aware that some diseases do not show any symptoms until they’re full-blown?”

Catelyn nodded. When does the nightmare end for her?

“I would like to start her on treatments for them. But she’s malnourished, among other things. She won’t be able to take the treatments until she’s a bit healthier and her body can stand the rough ride it will be in for. I had hoped that’s the only problem we’ll be having but there’s something else.”

“Why can’t she leave all these behind?” Catelyn demanded. “You talk of her body but what about her mental health?”

“We’ll have to wait until she’s physically stronger to assess her. I understand you wish to debrief her?”

“Only when she’s better.”

“That won’t be for a while.”

“What else is there? You said there’s something else.”

Ygritte let out an angry sigh, glaring at her shoes before looking at Catelyn. “I can’t start any treatment for her diseases, nor can any surgery be conducted until she’s healthier and. . .her baby will survive. I can take all the precautions to ensure the fetus won’t be harmed but there are no guarantees. Due to the nature of drugs there’s only a very small chance she will have a normal, healthy baby.”

“Pregnant.” Catelyn saw black for a moment before she shook it away. She leaned against the wall. “Fuck the gods. They do know how to show mercy, don’t they?”

“She’s close to fourteen weeks.”

“Does she know?”

“Not yet. This is why I want to talk to you. You mentioned she has no family?”

“No more.”

“I can tell her about the pregnancy but she might be more. . .calm, I believe that’s the word, if she hears it from someone she knows. I was told that you shot her rapist.”

“Rapists. Only two of them.” Catelyn hissed. “Some guard. Her brother.”

Ygritte’s jaw hardened.

“Does she have to know?” Catelyn demanded. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“She has to make the decision, Director Stark.”

“You’re asking her to choose between her life and her unborn child.”

“As I said, I will do all to ensure the baby is not harmed but I can’t guarantee anything. We can’t make this decision for her. Please think about it. Daenerys has been through nightmares neither of us can ever comprehend but she has to know. And choose.” 

 

The bed was not meant to accommodate two, let alone two people who were very broad and tall. Nearly delirious at the reality of Jaime in her arms, Jaime kissing her, she didn’t notice the limited space when they fell on it, lips fused desperately. She couldn’t see in the dark, only feel and it was all she could do—feel the hollowness she would carry until her last days at what she’d lost and the throb that intensified with each swipe of Jaime’s tongue against her own, the press of his skin. This was her last memory of the night, getting lost in the gentle but consuming fire of their kiss.

She was lying curled up against Jaime. The position was far comfortable—it had her resting on her broken cheekbone and her ribs were still mending. There was no other place she wanted to be, though. The idea frightened her in a way she had never felt before. It was similar to what she felt during the face-off at the Targaryen offices. _I am scared of losing this man._

Since she would never put her fear into words, she poured it in kisses along his wonderful jawline, down his throat. Her gaze was of pain and apology as she took his hand and saw his fingers devoid of their nails. They may be the hands that created Wildfyre into the weapon it had become but they had also touched her and loved her as if she was someone deserving of nothing but only what was good and sweet. Tears flowed from her eyes as she kissed each finger. Kisses healed, she wanted to believe. 

“No tears when I’m holding you, Blue.”

She laughed, roughly wiping the tears with her fist before she looked at Jaime. He still looked tired but on his lips was a lazy, smug smile. He looked like a grumpy but pleased golden lion. His thumb traced the trembling lower curve of her lip.

“This is no dream, is it?” 

“If it is I don’t want to wake up.” 

“Come here.”

She lowered herself carefully until their mouths met. It was a kiss of passion and need but awkward too. Jaime cupped her cheek and she yelped in pain, drew her closer, which brought her nose in hard contact against his face, making her yelp again. She accidentally kneed him on the ribs. Neither let go, only stopping to whisper a breathless apology before kissing again. She kissed him as if he was air and water. She needed him like life.

Jaime made a whining sound when she suddenly got off him. He watched as she locked the door, and a smile lit up his beautiful face when she added the precaution of adding a chair under the doorknob. But his smile dropped when Brienne, standing before him, nose bandaged, the bags under her eyes a pale purple, her cheek bandaged, started unbuttoning her shirt.

Brienne couldn’t move as fast as she liked. Her body was still in pain. But slowly, inch by inch, she worked on the buttons of the shirt until it slid to the floor. Her breasts ached, and she didn’t know if it was because of her pregnancy or the kisses they missed. A furious, red-pink flush spread from her face down to her chest. She saw Jaime staring at the wrapping around her ribs and she shrugged.

As she worked on her belt and pants next, his fingers fluttered down his stomach. She stepped out of her shoes and pulled her pants down sharply, gritting her teeth at how careful she had to be. When she straightened up, Jaime had kicked the sheets away, his gown puddled at his stomach. His hand was rubbing his cock, his eyes flicking from the tops of her hair, her eyes, her nose, lingering on her mouth, her breasts, legs. They rested on her cunt. His lips parted and his tongue flicked out as he stared at the thick tangle of dark blond curls there. 

Watching him watch her as he masturbated, her fingers danced to her navel and began to inch down.

 _“Yes,”_ Jaime grunted as she played with her clit.

“Jaime,” she whispered. Damn. That felt good. Her clit was so stiff. 

They stared at each other, his eyes hungry as she pinched her nipple roughly with one hand and fucked herself with the other. The blush on her face deepened as his hands sped up. Then in a strangled voice, he begged, whimpered, for her to come to him so she did. She had to take her time once again, hating how she had to be careful. But it was worth effort to end up straddling him and his mouth closing around her nipple. She moaned, both in pleasure and relief, cradling his head to her breasts as he sucked eagerly on her nipples. He gently bit them but pulled them hard and deep into his mouth. Then he was cupping her by the nape and urging her down. "Jaime, oh, Jaime," she whispered, kissing his wonderful lips, sucking his tongue. 

"My Blue," he growled against her mouth, deepening the kiss. "Fuck, it's been _so long._ "

Opening her mouth hurt her cheek but she was not going to stop. She would be mad to stop. "Yes. _Yes._ " 

If kissing had been awkward, fucking was even more. Brienne’s cries were more of pain than desire as she moved up and down to take in his cock, not realizing until then that she had to tense her abdominal muscles to remain upright. Nevertheless, she clung to him, demanding that he kiss her and touch her so she would forget the pain. Jaime was frustrated that he couldn’t do much, his thrusts weak despite the hardness of his erection. He couldn’t touch her as he’d like because she seemed to hurt everywhere. If he were a decent man, he would demand that they stop but he wasn’t. 

Brienne shoved him down and used her weight to keep him there as she fucked herself on his cock. His arms hanging down the sides of the bed, he could only watch and feel. It worked. She came with a pained grunt, her back arching momentarily before she lurched forward, gasping. Then her nails dug in his shoulders as he closed his eyes and forced his hips to a hard, frantic thrusts that had her bobbing despite her hold. The release ripped out a shout from him.

“Fuck, Brienne,” he panted. “I’m sorry about that.”

She nodded and dropped beside him. “Me too. But wait,” her eyes were suddenly worried. “Sorry about. . .that it wasn’t. . .or is it me. . .”

Though weak, he managed to shoot her a glare. “I’ll never be sorry for fucking you, Blue. I am sorry it went like that. Seven Bloody Hells, I’d rip Viserys Targaryen’s ass for what he did to me. Wenda too.” Then he flushed and said, “Uh, sorry, Blue.”

She shook her head and cuddled to him, her movements still careful. He put his arm around her. He sighed as she pushed at his gown. It clung to his skin due to sweat. Once his chest was bare, she opened her mouth to lick the film of sweat around his nipple. 

“I could have done more with her,” she confessed, wondering if this was the right thing to do. But she’d started it already. So she looked at Jaime and declared, “I shot her on the kneecaps. She won’t be walking again.”

Jaime all but shoved his tongue down her throat with his hard kiss. She whimpered, feeling herself getting wet and she was still dripping with his semen. As if sensing it, his fingers notched deep in her cunt. They swirled in the sticky mix of their combined release. Maybe because she was still sensitive, she suddenly jerked against him and cried out against his mouth. He licked her lips and whispered, “That’s how I wanted you to come, Blue.”

Blushing, she whispered back, “They heard us. The guards.”

“Fuck them all.” He kissed her on the forehead.

She sighed and rested her head on his chest. Jaime’s breathing had steadied but his heart continued to race. She would sleep but he continued caressing her, his hand and fingers light and reverent. When his hand drifted to her stomach, she took a deep breath.

“Jaime, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“There’s something I want to tell you too.” Jaime pulled back a bit so she looked at him. 

“Can’t I go first?”

“No, Brienne, you have to know this. I can’t. . .I can’t let this hang over us.” He let out a grunt. “Fuck, I should have said it first before we. . .I guess,” he said looking at her with resignation. “I guess that makes a selfish man. Definitely unworthy of you.” 

Then he suddenly kissed her on the mouth. It was another of his hard kisses but this one had a different flavour. It seemed to plea and beg, say goodbye and that he loved her. She stilled.

“Jaime, I have something important—“

“Please. Let me go first. Brienne, listen to me.”

She sat up, frowning. He sighed and put a hand on her freckled shoulder. “I’d rather you hear it from me first rather than from a report.”  
There it was again. She may not be surrounded with guns this time but she never in a million years thought that being alone with Jaime could bring her this fear. “What is it?”

Jaime took her hand. “The bullet that shot Selwyn. It was meant for me.” He stared into her eyes. “I created the Wildfyre smart bullet that tracks its target through DNA.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Thank you so much for your patience.
> 
> I'm going to upload another chapter during the weekend.
> 
> Spoiler alert: More smut.


	75. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You said you. . .love me.” She said it as if it was something lodged in her throat. “I want you to know that despite that I don’t expect anything from you.”

Since seeing eyes as blue and brilliant as Brienne’s, Jaime realized that nothing would be as guileless, nor as pure as those pools. She was ugly, now grotesquely so with the awful bruises under her eyes, the bandage across her already-crooked nose, heavily stuffed, and another that covered her entire cheek. It hurt to look at her yet there was nobody he wanted to look at, not now and not for a very long time. 

Probably for good.

He stared into them, waiting for a flicker, a sparkle, maybe a dimming. Something. The days they spent in Skagos had shown him a softer, vulnerable side to the formidable agent sitting beside him, looking so breakable he feared that he’d given the final blow and render her irreparable. But her hand was still in his. He concentrated on that—her large, meaty hand firm and warm in his grip. He only knew she was breathing based on the rise and fall of her shoulders and the puff stuttering out of her mouth, revealing the chipped corner of a tooth. He had felt it when he ran his tongue into her mouth earlier. 

Brienne swallowed but continued looking at him. 

_You fool,_ he thought. _What did you expect? Her father was murdered because of you. You didn’t program the bullet but you sure created it. This is where you lose her._

What he would give for any response from her. Anything. Her fist cracking his jaw. Tears. Growls and grunts of anger, vows to kill him. His name from her lips, however she wanted to say it. She was so still. If not for her warm skin and her breath, her blinking eyes, he would think her dead. It was a sick thought and made him shake. He tightened his hold. She was his only anchor in this storm.

Somebody knocked sharply on the door. “Agent Tarth. It’s time for Dr. Lannister’s meal.” 

Brienne nodded, flushed, then said to the door. “I’ll be right out.”

Her hand started to slip away and Jaime held on. “Brienne?”

His hand was just as large, maybe not as strong but he would fight to keep her. She bit her lip and looked at her lap. “I have to go.”  
“Brienne, please,” he pleaded, using his other hand to wrap around his grip. He lowered his head and kissed her palm frantically. When she didn’t move away, he grabbed her. She may have groaned or hissed in pain, he didn’t care. He wasn’t letting go. He pushed his mouth on her, kissing her violently. More grunts and whimpers—he held her by the head, tilting it awkwardly to give her the full force of his kiss—and his other arm had snaked around her waist, feeling the wrappings around her ribs. Her hands were fisted on his gown but her breaths filled his mouth, her tongue was sliding wet and sloppily against his. 

Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Jaime managed to push Brienne on her back—it was like moving a fucking building. The metal bed grinded against the wall, the sound sharp and loud and could definitely be heard outside.

Brienne tore her mouth away from him. Her eyes were watery and red, her mouth bruised and swollen. “Jaime, please—“

“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he gasped, pressing his weight on her, his vision nearly going white at the pain exploding all over his body. “But don’t go. I’m not letting you go.  
”  
“I should—“

“The only thing you should do is let me love you and hear me beg for forgiveness for the rest of our lives,” he rasped and kissed her again.  
She was clearly in pain, whether it was physical or something else, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was he couldn’t let her go. Not again.  
This time, her fingertips fluttered to his cheek. His aggressive kisses had softened, tugging gently at her lips, lipping her almost playfully. He risked pulling back a little and saw her eyes were closed, face twisted in both grimace and desire. He would take it. He would take all he could get, no matter how little. 

“Jaime, we should stop—“

“No.” He growled against her mouth. “No. Don’t tell me that again—“

“There’s a nurse—“

“I don’t give a flying fuck.”

The pain was getting worse, spreading on his sides, his chest but he managed to grab her legs. Her thighs were still smeared with his semen and her own juices. She smelled of him, of them, and it made him dizzy with want, crazy with want. He shoved her legs roughly apart and fused his mouth to her cunt.

Brienne screamed. It sounded like want. Maybe it was pain.

Jaime tasted himself from her cunt but underneath that was her sweetness. It was musk and Brienne and it punched hard into his senses. As he sucked and slurped noisily, he snuck a glance at her. Tears tracked down her cheeks, down her chin, her throat. The expression on her face was one of torture and pleasure. “Brienne, don’t leave me again,” he begged before claiming her clit in his lips. She pulled at his hair, pushed his head closer to her cunt. She opened her legs some more and thrust against his mouth. He almost wept with thanks.  
He had done the vilest thing yet she still wanted him. 

Maybe she could still love him. 

The possibility that she would not love him was terrifying. It made Jaime want to curl up in a ball as he had as a child, in the days following the death of Joanna. 

Her orgasm slapped against his tongue and he groaned, lapping up every drop dripping from her. Brienne mewled and grunted, her grip on his hair strengthening as she surrendered to the command of his mouth and tongue. “Brienne,” her name was a shout, desperate and needy as he spilled on the sheets, on her leg. Spent, he collapsed on her stomach. His lungs were tight and it hurt to breathe. Damn his ribs. His chest slid against the slickness of her cunt.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, turning his head and looking at her. He reached for her hands. “Brienne, I have no right to ask but I’m asking, anyway. Please don’t turn me away. Don’t leave me.”

Brienne had an arm over her eyes so he couldn’t see what was there. When somebody knocked, less firmly this time, Jaime snarled, “Give us a minute.”

“Dr. Lannister, your meal is getting cold.” Came with the crisp voice of that fucker. _Agent Tollett._

“Not the meal I just had,” Jaime snapped. That got the reaction he wanted. Brienne removed her arm and glared at him.

“Are you insane?”

“Most likely,” he retorted. “The closest that things make sense is when I’m with you.”

Brienne sat up, her movements stiff and careful. Jaime reluctantly got off her so she could swing her legs to the floor. He frowned as he straightened his gown while she climbed into her pants and put on her shirt. 

“I understand if you hate me. I understand if you will never forgive me. But know that I love you.” 

He saw her shoulders freeze. She was standing with her back to him as she buttoned her shirt. With a heavy sigh, she turned to him.  
Even a blind man would know exactly what she’d been doing. She looked ravaged and well-fucked yet whatever masculine satisfaction Jaime could derive from the sight of her like this was gone in the wake of the hate she was sure to feel for him now. For the first time since laying eyes on her, her face was inscrutable. She kept her eyes on the ground, knowing that they would betray her.  
Her lips started moving but she was having a conversation with her shoes.

“What?” He asked, his voice raw.

She looked at him briefly then down on the floor again. “I can never hate you.”

He didn’t mask his relief.

“But you have to give me time to process this, Jaime. I—he’s my only family. Was.” Her thick lips trembled and he knew it was the first time she had acknowledged verbally that Selwyn was gone. “I-I have—I have funeral arrangements to make.”

“I am sorry. For the rest of my life, I am sorry, Brienne.”

“It won’t bring my dad back, would it?” She said, her voice suddenly sharp. Then she ran her fingers angrily through her messy hair. “I have to go.”

“You’ll come here again?” He hated that his voice sounded high and plaintive.

Brienne bit her lip. Her face was red.

“I swear to the gods, Brienne, you have no idea what I would do if this is the last time I see you. I’ll find you. Wherever you are. Whatever identity you’ll hide under. Do not test me.”

“You won’t be seeing me for a while. You have debriefings. You can’t do it one day. You have to get better. Do other things. ” She looked at him again then continued talking to her shoes. “Like go home to your family.”

The idea of being with Cersei once made him weak and crazed with lust and want. Now he faced it with dread. Ignoring what she was implying, he demanded, “Why can’t you be the one to debrief me? You know the case better than everyone else.”

“After what they just heard outside you think the Golden Company would want me near you? You’re still an asset, Jaime. I crossed the line.”  
“Write in your report that I seduced you. Hells, tell them I drugged your food and drink and had my way with you. I’m already considered a terrorist. How much worse can it be?”

This time, when she looked at him, her stare was steady. “I won’t let them do that.”

“I don’t need your protection. Not after what I’ve done.”

He hoped she would say something, anything. Instead, she headed for the door. _Turn back and look at me. Give me a smile, a frown._ But she squared her shoulders, ducked her head and went out. 

 

 

The floor where Jaime, Daenerys and Jon were confined saw a heavy traffic of agents for the next two weeks. The cycle of bland meals, sedatives and medications and too much fucking sleep was messing with Jaime’s head worse than when he was being tortured by Wenda and Viserys. His anger grew stronger with each day that Brienne did not show up. Damn her for keeping her word. His threats and demands to the guards on duty for her whereabouts were ignored. 

His debriefing took four days. He was sullen and uncooperative before Oberyn Martell. He couldn’t be persuaded to answer. This continued on the second day. 

On the third day, Catelyn marched to his room. She looked clearly pissed.

“If you do not cooperate, I will send you to the Black Cells, Jaime Lannister.”

“Get me Brienne and I’ll fucking answer all your stupid questions.”

“I’m not here to make a deal.”

“I don’t care where I end up.”

Catelyn couldn’t believe this. With the Golden Company agents halved and her hands full in filing a case against Howland Reed, the problem with Jaime Lannister would just bury her. If it wasn’t work crushing her she was still plagued with nightmares. The gruesome nightly repertoire now included the small pool of blood that Daenerys was found in hours after Catelyn broke to her the news of her pregnancy. A nurse found her just in time. Daenerys demanded to terminate the pregnancy but her actions put to question the stability of her mind. No doctor would touch her as a result. Meanwhile, the child in her stomach grew and approached its fourth month. 

On the third day of Jaime’s debriefing, it wasn’t Oberyn Martell that entered his room. Jaime struggled to scramble to his feet as a familiar, tall, muscular figure let herself in. When Brienne turned to face him, Jaime was on his feet. He was torn between running to her and making her come to him. At least his fucking hospital gown had been exchanged for a t-shirt and pajamas. 

Instead she stood by the door, scowled at him and grunted, “You haven’t been participating.”

“You haven’t come to see me. I tell you I love you and you disappear. I don’t expect you to be here every day but even just once to tell me something. Anything. `I hate you, Jaime.’ `Fuck you, Jaime.’ `You should be fed with nails, Jaime.’”

“You’re making things difficult for yourself, Jaime.”

“Where were you?” He demanded. 

“I took some time off,” she shot back. 

For the first time, he noticed that her nose wasn’t stuffed and bandaged anymore. Her entire cheekbone was covered but at least she didn’t look so wretched anymore. She wasn’t in her usual dark suit but in tan coat, blue sweater, jeans and worn, black canvas sneakers. 

“I had to find out from Agent Martell about your father’s funeral. How can you not tell me, Blue? I wanted to come.”

“I had him cremated.”

“Still.”

“I told you.” She leaned against the door. “I needed time off.”

“I missed you.” Jaime told her, his heart in his words. “Get away from the door, Brienne. And come here. Please.”

Maybe the word please did it because she went to him. Jaime grabbed her by the nape and leaned his forehead on hers. He closed his eyes as her hands slipped to his shoulders.

“I had to think. I had to mourn.”

“If I knew how to contact you I would have called. Is there anyone with you at least?” He started kissing her softly around the face. She didn’t freeze or whisper he stop. If anything, she clung closer.

“I’ve been alone longer than I’ve been with anyone.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. If you want.”

She sighed and hugged him. Jaime wished they could hold each other like this for a long time.

“Jaime, please. You have to cooperate in your debriefing.” She kissed him shyly on the lips. “The sooner it’s done the sooner you can go.”  
“Go where, Blue?” He asked, pulling back to look at her. “My family? My father would never forgive me for allying with Viserys. My sister I can’t stand. The only good thing about Lannisters is money and they can fuck themselves in the ass with it until the end of days.”

“Hush.” Her admonishment was softened by another kiss. Jaime tilted his head back and offered his lips. 

“Promise me, Jaime. You’ll cooperate.”

“This is blackmail,” he groaned, dropping his head on her shoulder. This time he sat on the bed and pulled her between his legs. He stared at her as he pushed her coat off her shoulders. Brienne flushed but she let him continue removing her sweater until she was wearing only a white camisole. “You know I’ll do anything when I’m holding you,” he confessed, lowering the straps until her small breasts were bared. He frowned, cupping the mounds. They seemed a little full and the nipples were engorged, the colour of red-pink. He heard her breathe deeply above him as he gently cupped her breasts. 

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” He kissed between her breasts and licked her nipples. _He had missed her so much._ “You just have to let me hold you.”

As he kissed her breasts and throat, his hand cupped her through her jeans. Gods, she was warm. And so soft. He grunted softly when she suddenly angled his head up and gave him her lips. He took them eagerly. The soft whirr of her zipper being lowered joined their sighs and licks. He palmed the slickening curls between her legs, thumb brushing her clit and a finger sliding her moist entrance. For a few moments, wet, squelching sounds was all that could be heard in the room. He fucked her cunt vigorously, drawing her juices down to his palm, wrist. Brienne cupped his face. They drowned in each other's eyes, Jaime begging her with every deepening stroke of his fingers never to leave him. She kissed him, a surprisingly shy kiss that still made his cock impossibly and painfully hard. He hissed against her tongue and quickly deepened it. 

“Wait, wait, Jaime.” Brienne suddenly extricated herself form his arms. Stunned, Jaime watched as she hastily pulled up her camisole until her breasts were covered. She was heavily flushed as she shakily fumbled to pull up her pants. 

“I didn’t come here for this. I mean, it’s nice.” She looked at him. “It always is. But. . .Jaime, I took time off to mourn, yes, and also to think of. . .new things.”

“New things,” he echoed.

Covered now though her nipples were still wet, tight and pressing enticingly against the fabric of her camisole, she nodded then said, “More like, new discoveries.”

“New discoveries?”

“What I’m about to tell you, please don’t think I’m manipulating you or forcing you to do something you don’t want. But I reiterate that you have to start cooperating, Jaime. That’s why I’m here. Primarily why I’m here.”

“Primarily.”

She growled, “Will you fucking stop repeating everything I say?”

“Get to the fucking point,” he snapped impatiently.

“Promise me you’ll cooperate. I need your word.”

“You have it. I’ll cooperate. I’ll sing whatever they want.”

She nodded. “Good.”

He grabbed her by the hips again. She shook her head and he groaned. “What else?”

“You said you. . .love me.” She said it as if it was something lodged in her throat. “I want you to know that despite that I don’t expect anything from you.”

“I love you, Brienne. It sort of follows that when a person says that there are expectations.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m manipulating you!”

“Just get on with it so that I can get your pants off, Blue!”

She slapped him on the head. “ _Ow!_ You know I cracked my skull, right?”

“Oh.” She looked horrified. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

He muttered something incomprehensible but still held her by the hips. “Tell me. What is it.”

“I’m pregnant.”

 

Six days after Jaime’s debriefing, President Olenna Tyrell held a press conference announcing his successful rescue. Tywin Lannister stood next to her as she spoke about the heroic efforts of government agents to ensure the safety and security of Westeros. When she was done, she presented Tywin to the reporters. 

Cersei was in the holding room of Highgarden, watching her father’s cold green eyes staring straight into the camera as he thanked the government for returning his son. Loras sat beside her, looking at her.

“Where’s your brother?” He asked.

She shrugged. “I haven’t seen him.”

That was worrying. She knew Jaime was home already. Tywin had visited him, even asked him to move back to Casterly Rock. Jaime refused, firm on staying in his own place. She read that as Jaime not only reasserting his independence but that he was waiting for her. Of course it would be easier if he was also in the Rock, as she was staying there at the moment. Tywin said Jaime knew. Yet Jaime had not paid her visit. Did not even call her.

“It looks like the marriage will push through,” Loras remarked.

“Not unless my brother has anything to say about it,” she muttered, playing with the unraveling hem of her suit jacket’s sleeve. 

She had the red thread twined around her fingers when the door to the holding room opened. She looked up and smiled. “Jaime.”  
He nodded at her. “Cersei.”

From behind him, a blond, androgynous-looking person stared at her, blue eyes moving up and down her body. Cersei raised an eyebrow and held out her arms. “Come here. It’s been so long.”

She frowned when Jaime glanced at the blond with him before he went to her. She threw her arms around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against him. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered in his ear, rubbing her breasts softly. “I’ve been thinking of you, brother.”

“It’s been a long time,” Jaime said, pulling away much too quickly.

Loras came forward, hand extended. “Loras Tyrell.”

“Father says you’ll be marrying Cersei,” Jaime said, shaking his hand.

Expecting him to segue to a cutting remark, Cersei was surprised when he gestured at the blond, tow-headed freak with him. “This is Brienne. The WCA sent her to watch over me until things are okay.”

“Nice to meet you,” Loras said, turning to shake Brienne’s hand.

“Likewise.”

Then to Cersei’s even greater shock, Jaime took Brienne’s hand. Gods, it was a woman. The creature, taller and thicker than her brother, dressed in an atrocious black and white suit was a woman and Jaime was holding her hand. The _creature_ with that bandage on her cheek making her look uglier, with the crooked nose and gods-awful freckles was a _woman_. Jaime caught the dagger stares she was hurling at them and he shot her a warning look. 

He enraged her even more by putting his arm around her waist.

_My lover, my brother. So desperate for cunt he looks for it even in someone so unfortunate-looking._

“Cersei, I’d like you to meet Brienne Tarth, my fiancée.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Cersei's back. That means hello shitstorm. Why haven't I killed her yet? 
> 
> Shame. Shame. Shame.
> 
> _____  
> Highgarden is the presidential residence, as mentioned many chapters ago. I'm too lazy to look up where I mentioned it. :-)


	76. No Place to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can’t run away from your grief forever, Cat.”
> 
> “I’m not. I’m trying to be as normal as I still can.”
> 
> “We’ll never be normal. Our son is gone.”

After staying in the hospital for a battery of tests and treatments, along with endless debriefings, Daenerys was finally released. There was plenty of reconstructive work needed to be done but her confinement was not doing anything for her condition. Her suicide attempt may have complicated matters even more but she had behaved since. She needed to get out and be as far away as she could from the antiseptic cloud that hung in the hospital. 

Dr. Wildling agreed but made it clear she was to return for more surgeries.

She signed all the forms before settling herself on a wheelchair. The nurse helped her adjust then sit somewhat comfortably on the pillow. Then Daenerys was pushed on her wheelchair, wheeling down the lobby. As they approached the glass doors, she saw Catelyn Stark waiting for her there. 

For the first time since her rescue, Daenerys realized that she was now completely alone in the world. No family. No close friends—she didn’t have many in the first place because Viserys had isolated her early on. A fist clenched cruelly around her heart as she looked up at the auburn-haired government agent standing before her.

Catelyn had been the one to shoot the guard raping her, and was also there when Daenerys woke up after that long, exhausting day. She had been there every time Daenerys was examined and the doctor’s diagnosis got grimmer after every test. Every time she felt dirty, spoiled, soiled. Because she hadn’t suffered enough, she was told about the life growing inside her. 

It brought up unpleasant memories of Viserys taunting her for not bearing him children, and the nightmares that visited her as her mind scrambled to identify which of the guards had done this. The one who blindfolded her and gagged her before raping her? One of the three that raped her together? There have been too many and too much abuse. She should have died. Maybe she shouldn’t have fought so hard. She should have died after the first night Viserys raped her. She was a stupid girl for fighting, for fighting so hard. This was freedom? Where was the peace? It didn’t require much thought to remember. Her body still bore bruises and internal injuries that required some reconstructive surgery. She could still feel all of them inside her.

And now this. . .child. Still living inside her. _Taking what was little left of her._ The doctors refused to terminate due to her pathetic suicide attempt. She had to get well. She had to be in the right state of mind. 

How anyone could remain sane was beyond her.

Daenerys stood up from the chair and Catelyn smiled at her.

“Were you waiting for me?” She asked.

“Of course. You didn’t think you’d be discharged and left on your own, did you?”

Daenerys shrugged but said, “Thank you for being here.”

She didn’t have things aside from a paper bag containing clothes still with their tags on. From Catelyn, no doubt. The clothes she was wearing were also new—a pink sweater, light blue jeans. The socks were a little tight around the ankle because they were new. The sneakers felt stiff but they would yield around her feet in time.

“I’ve gotten in touch with members of your old staff,” Catelyn told her as they walked to the parking lot. “They’ve set up your old apartment in Gin Alley and are eager to see you. But I can make other arrangements, if you like.”

She remembered her place in Gin Alley. A huge, three-bedroom apartment. When she received the first of her inheritance at twenty-one years old, she bought herself this gift. Twenty-one, she thought. Less than ten years had passed since but it was harder and harder to believe she had been that happy once, had lived with much hope and exuberance. 

She shook her head at Catelyn’s offer and climbed in the car.

As Catelyn pulled out of the slot, Daenerys pressed a button and the window lowered. The sun was a warm caress on her cheeks and the wind fluttered teasingly, loosening the ponytail she was wearing. She propped her elbows on the window and looked out, unaware of the innocent, carefree image she was projecting when Catelyn glanced at her. 

While waiting for the light to change, Catelyn asked if there was somewhere she wanted to go before going home.

Home. An idea that had become hell in the last five years. Home was where Viserys violated her. Home was her brother began to tear her into little pieces. Daenerys looked at her lap then at Catelyn.

“I’d love to go for a cheeseburger. And steak. And fries.” She admitted.

Catelyn smiled. “I know just the place.”

She drove to Grilled & Battered, a popular diner known for its thick burger patties and over thirty cheeseburger options. Daenerys only had to glance at the menu to know what she wanted: a classic cheeseburger with three different kinds of cheese from The Reach, with an extra serving of pickles, thick-cut baked fries and strawberry milkshake. For dessert she ordered a banana split.

“Sounds goods. I’ll have the same,” Catelyn told the waitress and handed back the menus.

Daenerys gave the departing waitress a small smile before turning to Cat. Her fingers were making quick swipes across her phone. Catching her, she flushed and said, “Sorry. I may be out of the office but there are still things needing my approval.”

“Thank you for picking me up from the hospital,” Daenerys told her.

“You’re welcome.” Catelyn put the phone away then leaned back on her seat. Her blue eyes looked at her curiously. “How are you? Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To sleep in your own bed, be free.”

Daenerys put her arms around herself, feeling the slight firmness of her belly. 

“Not one hundred percent free.”

“You have to get better first, Dany. May I call you that? I heard that’s your nickname.”

“It’s okay. And I’m better. I haven’t tried to kill myself in two weeks.” Her attempt at a joke only made Catelyn grimmer. “I shouldn’t be alive.”  
“But you are. That means you get another chance. A clean slate.”

“Clean? You think anyone would still want me? What about when they know what happened to me?” Daenerys brushed a fist across her tearing eyes. “I can still feel them, you know. Every night. Even with all the drugs. I can still feel what my brother’s done to me and what he had his guards do. What do I have to do to convince you and the doctors that I’m not crazy? I don’t want this child.” 

The doctors had begun some reconstructive work and she knew there were more. It wasn’t the risks that faced the child why she wanted it removed. It was because it was still Viserys and his men. As innocent as the child was, Daenerys knew she wouldn’t be able to give it the love it deserved. She refused to have it take any more of her than its father, whoever he was, had, through cruel, brutal force.

“We’ll talk to Dr. Wildling when I bring you for your next surgery.” 

Their order arrived. Despite her misery, Daenerys wolfed down her food, much to Catelyn’s relief. They ate quietly, only having sparse conversation. 

After paying, they returned to the car. Daenerys once again rolled down the window but this time didn’t stack her elbows on it. Instead, she just stared straight ahead.

“Aside from your old staff I have also gotten in touch with your solicitor.” 

“Pycelle.”

“Yes.”

“I do not wish for his services. He’s not my solicitor but my brother’s.” Daenerys tone was bitter. “He could have done something. Raised the alert for my disappearance. More.”

“Then we’ll get you a new one. I can make recommendations, if you'd like. We’re here. Nice building.”

Daenerys stared at the elegant, white building. She remembered it had thirty floors but she lived on the twenty-fifth. Catelyn killed the engine.  
It all came rushing back with the violence of a tidal wave. Waking up to find Viserys’ hand clamed around her mouth, his voice telling her harshly to be quiet. She remembered tussling in the sheets, struggling until he knocked her out with a blow to the head. She had staff. There were people and no one did anything more than to wonder where she’d gone. No police. No nothing. 

Suddenly, Daenerys ran out of the car. The doorman, recognizing her, smiled, but she brushed past him, running for an alley, something. Catelyn was running from behind, calling her. Daenerys found a garbage bin, threw it open and vomited. 

The sour river of half-digested meat, cheese and fries seemed never-ending. The sounds emitting from her were of agony. When it was done, she stood up, wiped the sleeve of her sweater across her mouth. She sank heavily on the curb. 

“Dany,” Catelyn was kneeling beside her. “Dany, are you okay?”

“I can’t—I can’t go there,” she sputtered, looking at her pleadingly. “I can’t go home. Please. Don’t make me go back in there.”

 

“This is highly irregular, Cat,” Ned said after a moment of quiet. He was marinating pork chops for their dinner. 

“She has nowhere to go.” Catelyn leaned her shoulder against the fridge and watched her husband put dry herbs in the mix before he washed his hands. As he wiped them clean, she added, “She doesn’t want to stay in a hotel. She wants to be somewhere safe. With me.”

“I understand but. . .this is Daenerys Targaryen. How sure are we that she’s even safe? That in bringing her to our home we’re safe?” Ned turned around to face her. “I don’t want to sound cruel—“

“You’re not.”

“But what about our children? What do we tell them? She’s all over the news.”

“Then we tell them the truth. She is a friend who has nowhere to go and needs help.” 

“Is this guilt over Robb? You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it’s not guilt. And yes it was my fault. It was my bullet. I’m not doing this to make things right, Ned. I’m doing this because this girl has been through so much. And we’re not going to impose a limit on her stay. She doesn’t trust anyone. Only me.”

Ned gave her a look and rested his elbows on the counter. “That I understand.”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not. I just wish you didn’t spring this on me.”

“It wasn’t exactly planned.”

“I know that. I’m just. . .” Catelyn pulled herself away from the fridge as Ned went to her. Cupping her around the shoulders, he said, “This is work. We promised each other never to bring work home with us. You’ve been leaving before sunrise and coming home close to midnight or later. You can’t run away from your grief forever, Cat.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to be as normal as I still can.”

“We’ll never be normal. Our son is gone.”

Catelyn looked away.

“I don’t blame you.”

A tear began to fall from the corner of her eye. She sniffed and turned back to Ned. His gray eyes betrayed his pain. With a sob, she threw herself in his arms. He held her tight.

“It was your bullet. But not your intention.”

 

Jaime lived in a modest bungalow located in a cul-de-sac. Cersei stared at it in distaste. How her brother could stand to live there for years was beyond her. A Lannister that had crashed and burned, that’s what he was, she thought, slipping out of her car. What made things worse was he was now engaged to that creature. A creature who looked more like man and woman, with a bandage on her cheek, crooked nose, an ugly mouth uglier than the rest of her. Jaime had surely gone mad. 

The neighbourhood was quiet so at least Jaime did not really compromise what little good taste he had by living in a dump although by Cersei’s standards, his house was just a step above a shithole. 

The light was still on at the door, as he would always leave it for the night, but there were more lights inside too. That creature not be in there, she thought. It would be amusing how that ugly cow Brienne Tarth looked at Jaime as if the sun rose and set on his shoulders if not for that blasted engagement. The one consolation was how Tywin had paled at the news. Her father was far from pleased, and he should be.  
Cersei rang the doorbell three times before the door opened and Jaime stood in front of her, a smile frozen in his face. An elegant brow cocked gracefully as she stared at the apron he was wearing, the lock of golden blond hair falling on his forehead. He smelled of spices and herbs, warm and her Jaime but the apron was disconcerting. Still, her nipples stiffened at the sight of him and she felt her cunt go wet.

“Cersei.” He said, recovering from his surprise. “What brings you here?”

“I haven’t seen my brother for years. Aren’t you letting me in?” She demanded, angry, frustrated and desiring him.

“I have a guest coming.”

“That tow-headed thing that barely passes for a woman?” She spat.

He narrowed his eyes. “My fiancée, yes.”

“Oh, fuck that.” Cersei slammed a palm on his chest, pushing him away so she could barrel inside. She turned around to glare at him as Jaime reluctantly closed the door. As soon as it was, she yelled, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t think to let you in. You forced yourself inside.”

“Three years. Three years you won’t see me and you get yourself kidnapped and the gods only know what else and then you bring that!” Cersei was so enraged she was shaking all over. “Three years I waited for you. Father is still making me marry that fucking Loras Tyrell, which I just about managed to avoid, thank you very much, for us, Jaime. For us! What the hell—you bringing that to us. And you want to marry it?”

Jaime crossed his arms. “She has a name. Call her Brienne.”

“She’s a cow.”

She smirked when Jaime flinched.

“I’ve lost everything, Jaime,” she told him. “I lost everything—Father’s removed me from the company. He doesn’t even want me to set foot there. I lost everything because I wouldn’t give up on you. How can you do this to me?”

Something seemed to snap in Jaime because he looked at her from the top of her golden blond chignon to the crimson tips of her toenails revealed by her sandals. Then he gritted, “I asked you to come away with me. You didn’t.”

“We’re Lannisters and we have a legacy. When will you use your head for thinking and not your cock?”

“I loved you.”

Of course he did. “You still love me,” she whispered. “Fucking that cow who’s the exact opposite of me—“

“Her name,” Jaime snapped, “is _Brienne._ ”

“—means you still think of me and still want me. And I’m yours, my brother. My lover.” Cersei went to him and took his beautiful face in her hands. Jaime winced as if in pain but she held on. “I’ve always been yours. Now ask me.”

“What?” He looked confused.

“Ask to take me away. Ask me to be with you.” She helped herself to his lips. Aah. He kissed her back. She pushed his tongue past his lips but Jaime ripped his head away. But he didn’t push her from him. Imminent victory sweetening on her tongue, she pressed fully against him. She took his hands, shuddering a little at the sight of them without nails, then pressed them to her breasts. 

“Jaime, ask me.”

She grabbed his head to kiss him again. This time his lips remained shut. No matter. He was hard against her stomach. Her cunt was weeping in anticipation.

Suddenly, Jaime shoved her towards the wall. His eyes were dark with arousal. Cersei laughed but it was cut off when he smashed his mouth onto hers. She moaned, whispered. Then he raised the skirt of her dress and ground his cock against her cunt. “Yes, Jaime, yes,” she panted in his ear, biting it and pumping her hips against him. “ Give me your cock, my brother. Give it to me.”

She was kissing him and rubbing wildly against his body that she didn’t notice right away how his kisses slackened, followed by his body inching away from her. When she realized things were not going as they should, Jaime was already leaning against the opposite wall. He was panting, his lips were swollen. The apron concealed his arousal but she had felt it. But the look he gave her was that of anger and. . . _pity._

“I’m always the one giving and you’re always taking,” he said. “I always have to ask. You always make me beg. There’s no denying that I still want to fuck you, sister, but I have no love for you anymore.”

“Did your kidnappers also take away your good sense?” She demanded. She didn’t fix herself, knowing that in spite of her messy hair and crumpled dress she was still beautiful. “You have no idea what I had to do to ensure your return. Alive. Safe. I lost the company because of you. I lost everything because of you. Then you repay me with that _creature_ —“

“If you refuse my fiancee the respect she deserves, if you won't call her by name, I will force you to leave.” Jaime said quietly but firmly. “You will never set foot in this house. You will cease to be a part of our lives.”

“Who wants to be with you and that fucking cow?”

_“Leave.”_

Her stare was of outraged disbelief. “What?”

Jaime loomed over her, his face tight with tension and his fists curled. “You come to my house, insulting my fiancée, the mother of my unborn child. You throw yourself at me. You think to take things from me yet again, things I refuse you now. How can you think that I would still love you after what you’ve done? To Tyrion. _To our son._ ”

Cersei froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about," she managed to say. 

“You lied. You gave him up for adoption. You told me he was with you, that you were raising him. I was a fucking fool, a fucking fool for believing. Of course you got rid of him—“

“Tywin found out about us! Where were you?”

Jaime looked away. 

“I did what I had to do.”

“No, you didn’t. You could have left. Fought harder to get to me.”

“Jaime,” she reached out to touch him and he slapped her hand away.

“Leave, Cersei.”

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. _Her heart was actually breaking._ “Please, I can’t lose you. All we have is each other. ”

Jaime brushed past her and opened the door. His stare was cold. “I was never yours.” 

 

“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're probably wondering why Cersei didn't push through with her suicide attempt. Don't worry. It will be revealed :-) I thought to include it here but ending things between her and Jaime was a lot more important. I do apologize that there was some kissing and groping between them. Cersei Lannister is an addiction you can't just shake off. 
> 
> When Ned tells Catelyn his concerns about Daenerys being 'safe' he's talking about what she knows about her brother's operations, not the diseases in her still being treated. 
> 
> _______________  
> There! Another chapter in the bag.  
> WCA will be wrapping up soon. I know, I know, I've been teasing you with this for a while but there's only a few chapters left. There's still a few loose ends to tie up but yeah, we're approaching the curtain call.


	77. Onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His feelings for Cersei was equivalent to an avalanche, a sudden roar in the silence before rising and building to obliterate everything in its path. It was a perfect metaphor for how destructive it was. With Brienne, he was all overwhelming, contradictory feelings. Volcanic swells under a calm, placid surface. A cool balm that brought a fiery rush.

Two months later

After punching in the last of the access codes, the double doors of the Golden Company opened. Jon Snow squared his shoulders, his breath stuttering in a hiss at the sharp twinges of pain from his chest. Only temporary, Dr. Wildling had assured him. He hoped so. While he was almost back to his normal self, he could still feel the first plunge of the knife, then the next, their twisting, tearing motions that ripped one scream to the next from his throat. He still had counselling to go through for two more months before he could be pronounced ready to return to the field. Desk duty awaited but it was better than being at home going mad at the solitude and with nothing much to do except read.

As soon as he was past the door, applause rang out. Though surprised, he managed a quick, awkward smile, nodding at his colleagues before heading for his desk. Daario clapped him on the back. The sight of Oberyn Martell startled him, for he had assumed the other agent would be going back to WCA. He tapped the glass door of Catelyn’s office and she looked up with a soft smile before gesturing that he come in.

“You’re back,” she said, putting away her laptop to look at him. “Please sit.”

“I am back,” he agreed, flopping down. “Stuck on desk duty, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Interesting choice of words,” she mused. “How are you really, Jon?”

“The truth? It still hurts,” he patted his chest gently. His dark eyes were serious. “I hope that won’t put you off from returning me to the field at some point.”

“That’s not my decision anymore.” She replied.

He frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“There’s no other way to say this,” Catelyn said, speaking more to herself before raising her gaze to him. “Jon, I have to recommend the next director of the Golden Company.”

He stilled. “You’re leaving.”

“Not until the whole mess with Howland Reed is done.” 

“Fuck him.” The former director of Westeros Central Agency had been arrested a month ago, on charges of terrorism and treason. The situation at their head agency was chaotic at the moment due to the absence of the director and the public’s growing mistrust. Catelyn and Brienne had given testimonies that lasted for weeks, due to long list of atrocities Howland had committed. Oberyn had buried his former boss even more. This week was Jaime Lannister’s turn. 

“You can’t be running off because of that fucking twat, Cat,” Jon told her.

“I’m not. I’m obeying a directive given by the president herself.” Catelyn said. “She’s asked me to take over as director of WCA.”

Jon stared at her wordlessly, absorbing every word she’d said before he looked at her thoughtfully and smiled. “Congratulations.”

“I won’t be taking over until after the trial,” she clarified. “But I have to make my recommendation. Which I’ve done.” She paused and said, “It’s you, Jon.”

_“Me?”_

“Yes.”

“Cat, I’m a field agent. I don’t belong behind the desk. Not that I’m ungrateful. Thank you, really, but that’s not who I am.”

“You may think you don’t but you were nothing short of exemplary when you took over while I was. . .indisposed. I can’t imagine leaving this to anyone else.”

“Why not Brienne?”

“I agree Brienne is just as qualified and dedicated but she has been firm in asserting that she has no interest in being any other in the agency but a field agent. So I didn’t offer her the recommendation. But she knows I’m leaving. She knows you’re the man I want behind this desk when I’m gone.” Catelyn’s eyes softened but only momentarily. “You will have her full support.” 

“There’s only two of us,” Jon remarked. “From the original team.”

“Well, we have new agents here who are proving themselves capable. Agent Tollett is excellent so far. Grim and quite a whiner but trust me, he’s the guy you want on your side when things turn to shit.” Catelyn said. “You get to pick your own team.” 

“My own team,” Jon echoed faintly.

“Of course, there’s also the transfer of Oberyn Martell.”

“You think we can trust him? He sold his boss out, Cat.”

“He was a fool but he only did as instructed. In the end, he helped us. Still, if it would ease you, keep a close watch.” Then she laughed. “Daario’s still here.”

“He’s never going to forgive me for forcing him to dig a bullet out of his foot,” Jon was chuckling too. “So. I won’t be totally surrounded by new faces.” Then turning serious, he said, “It’s an honour, Cat.”

“Doubtless you’d keep Westeros safe.” Catelyn assured him. She sat back on her chair and added, “Maybe this time you won’t have to protect us from the enemy anymore.” 

 

Though Jaime was a heavy sleeper, Brienne was careful as she removed the blanket from his legs and positioned herself between them. She bit her lip, tilting her head as she watched him slumber uninterrupted. Lying like this, flat on his back and his golden blond hair a small halo around his head, his handsome, elegant features were soft, giving her a glimpse of the boy he used to be. Her stomach fluttered and she pressed a hand there gently. The baby was still too small to make any movement but she liked to imagine it was responsible for every flutter. After all, it happened quite a lot when she was thinking or looking at Jaime. 

Pink spots overwhelmed her cheeks as she lightly thumbed at the waistband of his boxers and slid them down his legs. Her mouth watered at the sight of his cock, thick and long even at rest. The hairs were cinnamon-blond. Looking at Jaime, she wrapped a hand around it and started stroking it.

He was so warm and so hard and he wasn’t even awake yet. She lowered her head and licked the pre-cum beading at the tip. She sighed, closing her eyes as her mouth opened and wrapped around the bulbous, _perfect_ cockhead.

Her breath hitched with every swipe of her tongue around and on his growing member, followed by a breathy, satisfied moan that caused the surrounding hairs to tremble. As she sucked and licked him, her blue eyes rested on his face. He was still asleep but his body was beginning to move, languid, lazy thrusts of hips and absent-minded caresses of his hand on her hair and cheeks. She smiled, let out a laugh that was too loud and startled Jaime awake. It was comical how his eyes instantly flew open, his emerald stare sleepy and clouded. Then he jerked, clearly startled when he realized that Brienne bobbing her head up and down, her tongue going round and round his cock was no dream. His fingers tugged at her hair.

“Blue,” he groaned and thrust his hips sharply.

“Hmm.”

“ _Fuck._ Brienne, you are so good,” he gasped.

She released his cock from her mouth long enough to whisper, “Fuck my face, Jaime.”

His hot stare slammed into her, his entire body going rigid at her words. He had told her the same thing when they fucked for the first time. She kissed him lovingly on the thigh then returned her attention to the firm bit of flesh high and straining between his legs.

She licked his cock until it gleamed with her saliva. Slick now, she opened her mouth and sought to have it fill the entire cavity. Jaime, realizing what she wanted to do, thrust even more desperately. His growling gasps rivalled her greedy, sucking sounds. It didn’t take long for his release to be upon him and he grabbed her on the shoulder in warning. Brienne’s eyes flashed defiantly and sucked him harder.  
Jaime shouted and slammed his hips upward, shoving his cock deeper into her throat than before. Brienne gagged for a moment, her nails digging in his thigh but she sucked his come hungrily. He was still jerking and groaning when she had to pull away, panting. Her head dropped on his thigh and she watched, eyes bright and heavy-lidded with lust, as the last of his semen spilled out of him and onto the sheets. 

Her big teeth nibbled on her slick, swollen lower lip as she stared at his relaxed face, his relieved, pleased smile. How she wished he would always look like this, satisfied, young, happy. Her heart swelled at the love she felt for him and she reached for his left hand. She blushed as he watched her kiss the wedding band around his finger.

Their wedding was probably the most unglamorous in the history of Westeros. It had been in the city hall, both of them in jeans, she wearing his old, gray t-shirt frayed at the collar and her plaid, blue-and-gray shirt with a button missing on the cuff. Jaime wore a green sweater that exactly matched his eyes but it was clear from its worn and faded appearance that it had seen better days. They were just given their license. Thrilled that at last they could marry each other, Jaime asked if she was willing to do it right away. He promised her a bigger, formal wedding, with flowers and a string quartet next time. Her answer was a gentle kiss and a fervent whisper that all she needed was him, now and for always.

Thus, their witnesses was a mix of people in business attire and casual clothes. Jon showed up in a denim shirt and black slacks, sneakers. Catelyn, who sped to the city hall on their lunch hour, was in a dark, somber suit. Ned joined them too, and he was dressed similarly as Brienne. Daenerys rounded up their group. She made the effort to look a nice with a red and white striped dress that skimmed her ankles, and flat black sandals. 

Jaime had been resistant but Brienne urged him to call his father anyway. Father and son were still at odds. After the press conference of Jaime’s return, Tywin had insisted that his son return to Casterly Rock. He went, thinking that his father offered rest from what he’d been through. Instead, Tywin issued an ultimatum that he take over the company in the soonest possible time or he risked disinheritance. But the tipping point was when Tywin demanded he end his engagement to Brienne, deeming her ‘highly unsuitable.’ 

She hated being the cause of the rift between the Lannisters. Jaime assured her repeatedly he had no regrets but it still gnawed at her, that he had walked away from a legacy to be with her. He had chosen her. He gave her a dubious look when she asked him to invite Tywin, brushing off his protests that he would call off the wedding. Tywin didn’t show up. No Lannister did.

When they kissed, he did it as if his life depended on it. She almost cried when he kissed her cheek, still bearing the stitches of the last of its reconstructive surgery. 

After the wedding, they adjourned with friends to the diner next door that served breakfast all day. They feasted on bacon and eggs, pancakes, three kinds of pies, unlimited coffee. Then Jaime whisked her away to his house. They never made it to the front door. Instead, they fucked for the first time as husband and wife in his driveway, pushing the seats of the car all the way to the front to make room for their tall forms and long legs. They fucked in the living room when they made it inside an hour later. They celebrated with a pizza dinner and sugary soda. In an attempt for some convention, Jaime found half a stub of a used candle and stuck it inside a small beaker and lit it up. Their kisses tasted of cheese and soda. Their attempt at play with the hot sauce was quickly aborted because it stung the skin. 

Their wedding was rushed and unplanned, unromantic, but Brienne had never felt love of the magnitude Jaime gave her beginning that day. It made her float on clouds yet also provided stability. She looked at him with her heart and saw him clearly. 

Every morning Brienne woke up with Jaime was a gift. It was similar to the four days they had together in Skagos, when things were slow yet also urgent, their need for each other intensifying rather than approaching satisfaction. 

She smirked at Jaime before flopping down next to him. He opened his arms and she turned there, humming as she found herself in this familiar, protective circle. 

“What a great way to start the morning,” Jaime remarked, caressing the muscled plane of her back.

“Uh-huh,” she murmured, nuzzling his neck. “Great morning.”

“Your mouth is unbelievable.” He marveled, tilting her head up. His thumb swiped at the drop of semen from the corner of her mouth. “I love seeing you like this.” 

Then he devoured her, grunting when he tasted himself still thick and slick on her tongue. Brienne’s high from his orgasm spiked even more as she found herself on her back and his cock hardening against her stomach. Jaime continued sucking her tongue, licking her lips, basically eating her mouth as his hands coasted up and down her shoulders. He squeezed her breasts, loving their new roundness, but he hissed at the barrier of her t-shirt. She pulled it off. He pinched and pulled at her sensitive nipples and she cried out, stunned with herself that she could love this, this bite of pain. She shoved her tongue in his mouth, inwardly smirking as he gasped in surprise and retaliated with a harsher, hungrier kiss. Together, they pulled down her shorts. Sobs were pulled out of her throat as his fingers fucked her and tongue burrowed past the thick tangle of her bush to taste her.

“Oh, Jaime,” she moaned throatily when his cock started pressing into her. She had to open her legs wide, he had to thumb her moist folds open to ease the entry. Her nails raked down his back as he filled her gradually, thick and wonderful. They stared in each other’s eyes as they fucked. She felt really beautiful like this, when he looked at her with both want and love, when he was inside her deep, needing to get to the heart of her. He pushed harder, throwing his head back and gasping, “Brienne.”

Their motions were fevered and frantic. Jaime kissed her randomly around the face as she heaved and grunted and grabbed at his buttocks, wanting more, wanting him to be inside her for days. His face was flushed, but nowhere close to the vivid redness of her own, as she locked her long, muscular legs mercilessly tight around his waist. 

“This how Agent Lannister handles hostiles, is that it?” He wheezed out, having given up all control and finesse to mindless, hungry fucking. Their sweaty skins slapped loudly.

“Please fuck me,” she begged, arching her throat and offering herself to him, like a prey surrendering to the superiority of her predator. Her eyes were nearly black, mirroring his. His smile was both teasing and strained but he did as she asked.

“Agent Lannister,” he whispered and growled when her cunt got even more wet. His cock slid another deeper inch. Brienne wailed. His eyes gleamed. 

With no one else to hear them from behind other walls, Brienne came with a scream, sexy and infinite. Jaime allowed himself a couple more thrusts before he spilled into her, his hips moving sharply and gracelessly. She let out a breath as he slammed on to her, her eyes gentle as he made sure not to rest too heavily on her stomach. Then he was sliding to the side and taking her with him, blanketing her to his sweaty body with his arms and legs. She was slick with her own sweat too and the semen between her thighs. 

“If you had interrogated me like this before I would have given you everything,” he huffed out, a smile in his voice. She blushed and pinched him on the arm, enjoying his yelp. “The Seven help me, but you do know how to fuck a man senseless, Blue.”

“Shut up.” But her tone was tender. Jaime tugged at her hair, now grown to her ears. “Hey,” she protested, half-heartedly before he pressed a long, hard kiss on her swollen mouth. It took only a few seconds to make her weak and long for him once again. Jaime Lannister was that intoxicating. But she settled for little kisses around his chest before nudging him, “Come on. We have a long day ahead.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Jaime groaned., pulling her to his chest and wrapping his legs around her thighs. “Why is Howland having a trial? He’s a terrorist. There shouldn’t be a hearing or anything like that.”

She sighed and rested her chin on his chest. “He believes he’ll win,” she whispered. 

He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Not happening. We’re not letting him win, are we, Blue?”

They looked in each other’s eyes. “No.”

She got up on elbows to kiss him gently on the lips before she rolled and left the bed. Jaime sat up as she put on a robe. Seeing the worry on his face, she quickly knotted the belt and got on her knees next to the bed. 

“We’re not letting him get away. No more. I swear it, Jaime,” she said.

“I don’t want you swearing your life to me anymore.” He told her, shaking his head.

“I’m not. What I’m promising is this will be over. We’re going to live and have the life we deserve.” As she spoke, his hand ran down her hair, to her neck. Then she pulled it and pressed it to her belly. “It’s not just us now.”

“No, it’s not.” His hand firmed on the spot as he looked at her. Then he leaned forward and kissed her again. 

“I love you,” she murmured, breaking away long enough to say the words. He stilled and she would think his expression was that of disbelief but he was kissing her again. She sighed and threw herself in his arms. There was no point in denying herself joy. Not since Jaime. No more.

 

An hour later, Jaime was putting a dash of cinnamon in his coffee while Brienne worked through a bowl of raspberries, blueberries and sliced bananas. She gave him a wan smile as the aroma of cinnamon rose in the room. He knew the scent reminded her of Selwyn, who had liked cinnamon in his coffee too. 

Being with Brienne in any way brought a feeling of immense. . .rightness. This was the closest he could describe how he felt when even just in the room with her. All the other elements and pieces could be removed and the story will be the same. Take Brienne away and it was vastly different, bringing a hard, penetrating chill. 

His feelings for Cersei was equivalent to an avalanche, a sudden roar in the silence before rising and building to obliterate everything in its path. It was a perfect metaphor for how destructive it was. With Brienne, he was all overwhelming, contradictory feelings. Volcanic swells under a calm, placid surface. A cool balm that brought a fiery rush. He wanted to sink deep in her cunt, remain in the tight grip of her warmth for weeks yet the same satisfaction and relief would also be found in skimming his knuckles across her scarred cheek. Love for Brienne was something he was still trying to understand. There were only two things he was certain about: he couldn’t be without her, and whatever he felt for his sister was a perversion of it. 

He didn’t expect the pleasure derived from watching Brienne do the most mundane. She was not beautiful—he loved her, and while seeing her through it now didn’t make her less ugly, there was no one else he wanted to look at like this. Honestly, he couldn’t stop the idiotic grin from his face watching her sip her skim milk, rub her back, stretch, scratch her head. He truly delighted in looking at her, watching her.  
How can she think I would have regrets choosing her over my family? He wondered. His family was everything bad he could think of: a nest of vipers, a cesspool. Yes, a small part of him had hoped for a reconciliation with Tywin but that died when the old man demanded he put an end to the ‘lunacy’ of his engagement with ‘that woman.’ Cersei had screamed and hit him repeatedly when he told her to leave, disgusted with himself with the ugly truth about her, one that he had been blind to for as long as he can remember. She left him cut and bleeding, yet another reminder how their relationship was as destructive as wildfyre. Brienne found him in this state. With only concern and worry in her beautiful eyes, she patched him up, cleaned his cuts with antiseptic. Then and there he realized that whatever happened, she wouldn’t leave him. This was love, he thought, and he had been seriously shortchanged. As if reading his thoughts, she opened her arms and had him fall asleep listening to the vital beating of her heart. She was that giving. She was too good. 

He insisted on driving and it was amusing seeing her frown and sulk in the front seat. She was done with her testimony but she had taken time off from work to be with him on his first day. Jaime was anxious and he hid his sweating palms in his pockets. The prosecutor, an old man with thick white hair and heavily-lined features but clear, intelligent eyes, was Brynden Rivers. He had warned Jaime that his marriage to Brienne was going to be as scrutinized as it had been when she was on the hot seat. Jaime also knew that his relationship with Cersei was going to be put out in the open. The one consolation in this mad trial was that it was not open to the public.

As they walked into the room, Brienne took his hand. “Everything will be alright, Jaime.”

Her eyes looked very big and blue. Sapphire oceans. He grasped her hand tight and dropped a kiss on the knuckles. The cool touch of the metal band round her finger was comforting. They reluctantly let go and Brienne prompted him to take his seat. Then she went to take a seat behind him. 

“It’s going to get ugly,” Brynden reminded him as Jaime joined him.

“Well, I have my wife to protect me,” he said, glancing at Brienne. He grinned when he saw a familiar figure join her “And it turns out, a crow, a sellsword and the supreme executioner.” Though he knew Jon, Daario and Catelyn were there for Brienne more than him, the show of support gave him an extra boost of courage. He was ready.

His face betrayed nothing but calm as Howland Reed sat behind the desk and looked right back at him. His defense attorney, a smug bastard with a too-narrow face and skinny shoulders, was Harald Karstark. He sneered at Jaime.

You can’t touch me, Jaime thought. None of you can. He thought of his Blue, sitting behind him, ready to spring to his defense. Her presence both emboldened and calmed him. Then Jaime was asked to swear, putting his hand palm down on the Book of the Seven and declaring he would say nothing but the truth. 

When the judge motioned for the trial to begin, Harald Karstark practically leaped for him chair. He made a show of having Jaime state his name and occupation. He had every intention of going through the entire Lannister family tree until Brynden objected that the questions had nothing to do with the trial. The judge agreed and ordered Karstark to a more direct line of questioning. 

Jaime’s eyes were cool as Karstark obviously fought the urge to rub his palms together.

“Tell me, Dr. Lannister, how did Howland Reed secure your services to act as an asset for the WCA?”

Jaime caught Brynden’s eye, who nodded.

“Howland Reed got wind of my relationship with my sister,” he answered. When Karstark opened his mouth in glee, no doubt to ask him to specify exactly the nature of his relationship with Cersei, Jaime continued smoothly, “He had me to listen to his recordings of my conversations with her that revealed our sexual relationship.” 

He found Brienne’s eyes. The only blue that mattered. The only light in the world. _I am doing this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some time jumps. A chapter or two ago, Catelyn was building the case against Howland Reed. There was no point showing him getting arrested, charged and seeing hers and Brienne's testimonies but I highlighted Jaime's. I did this to show that now that he's free from the Lannisters and shagged up with Brienne, he's gotten stronger and unafraid to acknowledge his relationship with Cersei. 
> 
> Howland's trial is not open to the public because it is a national security issue. I would think this is the argument his lawyer made and the prosecutor agreed due to the sensitive nature of the evidence.


	78. What We Make of What We Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her heart beat was an echo of his own, reminding him once again that this woman was going to be with him at every step of the way, no matter what happened. His heart was crushed but her love and the life they had created was putting him back together, one piece at a time. With his big hand flat on Brienne’s belly, he pulled her closer for a kiss, pouring his need in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begins with sexual coercion.   
> You've been warned.

The message arrived early in the afternoon, effectively barring Cersei from doing anything else for the day: Tywin would be arriving at her penthouse and he expected her to be there. She glared at the immaculate walls of her prison. It was ridiculous for him to order her to remain where she was being that her freedom came in dole-outs now. 

It was all Loras Tyrell’s fault. Somehow, he got wind of Tywin and Kevan ejecting her from LannCorp and in effect, all Lannister family holdings and interests until they said otherwise. She had been sitting in the tub filled with warm water, a blade to her wrist when one of her maids knocked and informed her that Mr. Tyrell intended to speak to her. Barely had the girl finished speaking when the door burst open. Loras’ eyes widened at her naked form then the blade she held to her wrist. Smirking at him defiantly, Cersei managed to make a slash, though hollow, before he jumped into the water to wrestle it from her surprisingly steely grip. 

“Stupid little fool,” he grunted when he managed to snatch it from her and throw it away. The maid, horrified, could only watch until he barked that she call emergency services. Shallow as the cut was, the water was pink blood. Cersei sobbed and raged as he dragged her out of the tub. Her humiliation reached its peak when Loras glared at her body, the body that had enticed men including her brother, with distaste before throwing a robe at her. 

She was still staring at her newly-stitched wound, surrounded by the sounds and smells of the hospital when Tywin swept the partition curtain aside. The disgust on his face almost sent her reeling back but she managed to summon what was left of her pride to glare back.   
“You don’t run out of tricks, do you, daughter?” Tywin drawled. “Released from all responsibilities and what do you do? You should be grateful that in spite of your indiscretions the president still wishes to see you wed to Loras.”

“If you want me to regard my prospective marriage a prize you’re very much mistaken, Father,” she hissed. “You punish me even more by forcing me to marry a man who has sucked more cocks than I have—“

Tywin slapped her. _Her father_ actually slapped her.

Since then, she was confined indefinitely to her penthouse, and surrounded by round-the-clock security lest she found her hands around a blade again. All sharp objects have been removed, forcing her to dine on plastic silverware, to drink from paper cups, eat from paper plates. Her medicine cabinet had been emptied as well and all housecleaning substances and mixtures removed in case she got desperate enough to poison herself. 

The only time she was released from the prison of her own home was when Jaime was presented to the press. While Tywin took his son back to Casterly Rock, Cersei was returned to her penthouse. The one night she managed to escape she wasted it on Jaime, who was fuckingly and stupidly unyielding regarding his infatuation with that ugly whore. She was so angry she ignored the warnings from her guards when she returned. She didn’t care what Tywin did to her anymore but she would always look after herself. Right then, she needed a cock. So she picked the most acceptable-looking among the guards and lured the young man into the room. 

As he came in her cunt, she yanked his hair and whispered that if he told anyone, especially Tywin, of what they’d done, she would say he raped her. He paled, freezing because both knew it was no idle threat. She would repeat this to the next guard she pinned to her bed, and the one after that. It was lucky for her that her guards were attractive, not to mention terrified of Tywin and awed by her beauty. And who were they to complain about fucking Cersei Lannister?

Her eyes were absent, gazing into nothingness as two guards fucked her. These days, she needed two men to get her off. Gregor Clegane was a boor but he made her ass happy. The guard rutting inside that spot right now was not as blessed but he was dedicated to pleasing his mistress. Below her, another guard fucked her like a champion in the cunt while he mouthed her tight nipples. He should fuck her in the ass next, she thought and got wet at the image. 

For the first time, she looked at the guard. He did not have Jaime’s beauty but his dark blond hair and light green eyes put him close enough. Thinking of Jaime got her wetter and when she put her mouth on the guard, surprising them both, she came with a moan.   
“Get off,” she growled at the man still pumping in her ass. He grunted in protest and she hit him on the head, pushing him off her. Knowing that he was dismissed, he got off her. The green-eyed champion still between her legs looked at her, his expression both hopeful and tensed. She stilled her hips and squeezed. He trembled.

She smirked at her power over him. “Tell me your name.”

“G-Galen, Miss Lannister.”

“Miss Lannister,” she drawled, rolling out her name with relish. She ran a small hand down his chest. Firm and muscled like Jaime, sprinkled with golden hair too but not much. Yes, he will do. “I like that. Do you wish to please me, Galen?”

He nodded.

She put her lips close to his ear and he groaned. “Take me in the ass.”

As she pulled away, he looked at her in shock. “Uh, M-Miss Lannister?”

“What’s the matter? You’ve never fucked your girlfriend in the ass before?”

“N-No, Miss Lannister but—“

“But what?”

“Maxwell. . .the other guard. . .he was just there—“

“So? You think I was wet for you when you put your cock in my cunt? That’s courtesy of one of you.” Cersei lifted away from him and slapped his thigh sharply. “Now. Get your cock in there.”

Despite Galen’s reluctance, he was soon rutting in her. He was huge and tearing into her. If he fucked her there for the entire night she would be loose come morning and sore. The idea had her nipples peaking painfully. Cersei’s head fell back, moaning. She could taste her imminent release, a sweaty, musky flavour in the air when the door burst open and Loras Tyrell sauntered in.

“What the hell!” Cersei yelled. Galen, lost in the haze of his own lust, wouldn’t be dislodged right away. Cersei squirmed and struggled, ordering him to get off her before he finally did. Through it all, Loras looked at them with a bored expression. His gaze was dismissive at Cersei but they warmed at the sight of Galen’s. Angrily, she yanked on her robe puddled at the foot of the bed. Galen needed no words to get dressed and leave. He ducked his head and apologized to Loras as he brushed past the other man.

“This is unacceptable,” Cersei sneered at Loras as she knotted her robe tightly. She crossed her arms and glared t him. “This is still my home.”

“It sure is. But your father has given me keys and also advised the guards that I could come and go as I pleased.” He glanced at the door significantly and leaned away from it. “As you do, my soon-to-be-wife.”

“Why do agree to this?” She demanded. “You fuck men. You don’t want me. This marriage is a trap for both of us.”

“It can be,” Loras agreed, shrugging. “But we can also make it less confining.”

Cersei shot him a withering look before helping herself to some wine. Loras raised an eyebrow as she deliberately ignored offering him a glass. 

“Less confining, really,” Cersei said sarcastically. “They’re going to demand children. Heirs. Being that your cock doesn’t stand at attention when with me, how do you think we’ll make that happen? Because that’s what they will expect from us. Children,” she spat out the word. “You don’t even want to fuck me.”

“I still don’t. But there are ways. Hear my proposal, Cersei.” Loras, to her dismay, lounged on the bed still mussed and moist from sweat and fucking. His smile was smug as he stared at her outraged face. “I promise you’re going to like it a lot more than being confined in this pretty prison all day and terrorizing your guards to fuck you.”

Cersei continued to glare at him and poured more wine into her glass. She sat on a on plush chair by her vanity and stared at him wordlessly.

“When we marry,” he began, “the first order is to take you away from here. I don’t like King’s Landing at all. Too many people know me. Too many who want to get in my good graces and my pants—present company excluded, of course.”

“You’re taking me away from here. You do know how to please Tywin. Tell me the truth, are you fucking my father?”

Loras ignored her and continued, “In Rose City, you will have freedom, Cersei. This I promise with our marriage. I will not stop you from getting your satisfaction elsewhere—as I clearly have no intention to, ether—but yes, they will expect children. That, we can not avoid.”  
“You offer freedom. To me it’s just a bigger prison with new stipulations.” A child, even just one, was a trap. There would be no escape after that. She gestured at her room loosely. “Not as pretty in here, perhaps, but a prison, nonetheless.”

“Refuse me, fine. You think I’m the last Tywin would foist on you? I’m your best shot at living the life you want, Cersei.” Infuriating her even more, he put his head on the pillow where Galen had rested his head. He inhaled dramatically, smiling at the scents entering his nose. “I want to share it with you. Who knows, you might actually find it fun.” 

“No.”

“No?”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“Sure, I do.” Loras straightened up and gave her a serious look. “You want your brother.”

She didn’t deny it.

“I know, Cersei. Still, I offer marriage. You will not get a better offer.”

“I am not interested in offers.”

Unperturbed, Lroas shrugged again and got up. “So you say.”

“You disgust me.”

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, if there’s anyone in this room who should feel that it’s me. After all, I just walked in on my fiancée getting buggered by another man. No, make that two men." He sniffed again, nodding. "Instead I offer her a life. Tywin’s right, you know. You’re not as smart as you think. Whatever children we may have will only have their good looks going for them, that’s for sure.”

Cersei shot to her feet and raised her hand to slap him. Loras grabbed her by the wrist and shoved her down the chair. She sputtered and tried hitting him with her other hand. He stopped that too. 

She struggled but he was surprisingly strong. Finally, she gave up. She looked at Loras.

Then spat him right in the face.

His head snapped back as he pushed her away. Grimacing, he rubbed his clothed arm across his face roughly and glared at her. 

“I didn’t deserve that. I guess you are living the life, frightening your guards into fucking you. What story did you tell them—if they talked, you’d cry rape to Tywin?” He shook his head. “By the gods, you are something else, Cersei Lannister. I’ve met plenty of abominable people but the truly vile do stand out. I wish you luck in the life you choose.” 

 

In Ned Stark’s, study, a small group had gathered. They were comprised of his wife, Brynden Rivers, Ygritte Wildlling, Jon Snow, Jaime and Brienne Lannister. Though not a secret gathering, the Stark children had been sent off to sleepovers with their friends. 

Ned offered Daenerys his seat from behind his desk, insisting over her protests. So she sat down and regarded the people surrounding her.   
“Thank you for coming this evening,” she said, “and for agreeing to witness decisions I’ve come to make in the last few months.” 

“The Targaryen empire is as strong and vast as ever in spite of all that’s happened. Nevertheless, the protection it should give me was instead the very reason for my exploitation and years of captivity and abuse by my brother and his. . .associates. I am still recovering from this nightmare. I may never completely recover. Nonetheless, I want it stated that despite the abuse of my body, my mind remains sound and clear. As attested by a team led by Dr. Ygritte Wildling.” She glanced at the doctor, who nodded. 

“Despite this, I am sure there will be questions regarding the decisions I have made. Know that I did not make them easily. I am aware of the long-standing repercussions they would bring. The wealth and privilege given to me as a Targaryen, the very reason and justification my brother used in what he had done, has become an albatross. Thus, the first of my decisions.” 

Daenerys straightened in her seat and continued. “Summerhall is the Targaryen ancestral home. As such no changes can be made to it without the approval of the Westeros Society of History and Preservation and myself. However, I desire for it to be transformed into a facility and shelter for women who have been sexually abused. I also require that a clinic be built within the grounds that would provide women the ease in making choices about their bodies with regards to an undesired pregnancy. It is only under these conditions that Summerhall can become and will thenceforth be called the Catelyn Stark Center, named after the woman who has not only rescued me from hell but has become a friend. Seventy percent of the current fortune of the Targaryen empire, excluding Targaryen Industries, are to go in the running and maintenance of the home as well as salaries for its employees.” 

Shocked at the honour Daenerys had bestowed on her, Catelyn stammered, “Dany, this is. . .thank you. What a wonderful plan.”

“It is the least I can do for what you and the Golden Company did.” She smiled at her, Brienne and Jon.

“The thirty percent the remains for current holdings, excluding Targaryen Industries, is to be distributed among charities with my approval. Brynden, I would prefer that the money is given to foundations that aim at treating and helping victims of violence, especially children.”

“It will be done,” Brynden promised.

“Targaryen Industries was built to further the interests of Westeros, thus making it a reflection of the very best of its citizens. At the heart this was its primary purpose but corrupted by greed and the thirst for power. It has become a company that creates weapons for violence and mass destruction, a company whose loyalty depends on the coin of its buyers. It is for this very reason why I wish for Targaryen Industries to be dismantled and sold piece by piece. Employees who have worked there for at least two years would be given generous compensation depending on the length of their service and their needs until they find another job.” As she spoke, she kept her eyes on Jaime.

He interlaced his fingers through Brienne’s. “I guess this means I’m house-bound while you earn for us, Blue,” he whispered in her ear, delighting in her pink flush. Then he asked Daenerys, “You don’t wish to run the company?”

Daenerys shook her head. “I refuse to have any more involvement with Targaryen Industries. I thought about having a merger with another company but that would mean more weapons and further darkening of the Targaryen name. I believe the best thing to do is to dismantle it. Speaking of what Targaryen Industries has done, all its files and research regarding Wildfyre and other possible weapons are to be turned over to the WCA, on the promise that these would not be used nor developed further.”

“You have my word,” Catelyn vowed. 

“But what will you do now? You’re giving everything away,” Brienne pointed out.

“I don’t know. I just wish to be free. I won’t be making a pauper out of myself if that worries you,” Daenerys assured her, “but ever since I made this decision I have been sleeping easier. Therapy is easier. I don’t believe I will fully recover or will be as trusting as I used to be but. . .that’s just it. There is some ease in being alive these days.” Her purple eyes shone. “I didn’t think that was still possible.”

After witnessing and signing the papers Brynden prepared, Jaime and Brienne were the first to leave. Brienne was on her fourth month and the bump in her belly was visible even in the loose, tunic-style shirt she was wearing. It was still early in the evening but both had declined Ned and Catelyn’s invitation to dinner. Jaime didn’t want them to be out late in the road, not when he was on the last week of testifying against Howland and his wife pregnant and prone to severe headaches at random moments. 

They also had other agenda. Brienne had provided him with the information before but due to the events beginning at the masque ball at the Targaryen Industries, Jaime was not able to look at them. He had not asked yet she gave it to him once again, leaving the decision of whether to check it out or not on him. He fell in love with her even more, touched at the trust she gave him.

Jaime was relieved that the address was in a quiet, upper-crust neighbourhood of stately homes and sprawling lawns. It was Brienne’s hand gentle on his knee, and her other pointing ahead, that told him they had arrived. His heart was beat hard in his chest, almost painfully. This was not an easy decision to make but Jaime knew he wouldn’t be at peace until he saw for himself.

Brienne, supportive as ever, handed him a pair of binocular after he pulled over. He couldn’t resist kissing her then, and holding her tight in his arms before turning away to look at the beautiful, elegant house. Vivid red tiles were on its roof, the colour a rich, sunny yellow that was vivid even in the dark. The architecture was clearly Dornish-inspired.

Jaime slowly brought the binoculars to his eyes and looked through them.

Some rooms were dark but he found what appeared to be the living room awashed in lights. Right there, a man in his thirties with thick brown hair and bright, blue-gray eyes held a little boy in his arms. His hair was thick and golden. They were too far away for Jaime to make out what the man was telling the boy but his wide smile was full of love. Then he lowered the boy to the floor as a raven-haired woman entered the room. She kissed the man before smiling at the boy then sat on the floor. Jaime followed her movements and saw her drawing the boy to her lap. The man got on his knees and, with a remote control, got the train set on the floor working. The boy laughed and waved his arms in delight.

“What did they name him?” He asked, still watching through the binoculars.

“His name is Patrick. Patrick Mallister,” Brienne answered quietly. “That’s his dad, Jason. His mother’s name is Ceyla. They have been married for seven years. She’s had three miscarriages. That’s why they decided to adopt.”

Jaime pulled the binoculars away. There was no avoiding the tears in his eyes.

“I should be grateful my son has parents who love him. But I still want to pound on their door and get him. He’s mine, Brienne. He’s mine and Cersei took him from me.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaime.” Her fingers fluttered to his nape, to his hair. With a grunting sob, Jaime slumped on her chest. The tears slid down as her strong arms went around him. Her embrace was fierce and her tears hit the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

They kissed through their tears, tasting each other’s salt, sobbing against each other’s tongue. When their tears dried out and their breathing steadied, Jaime pulled Brienne to his chest and just held her. Her heart beat was an echo of his own, reminding him once again that this woman was going to be with him at every step of the way, no matter what happened. His heart was crushed but her love and the life they had created was putting him back together, one piece at a time. With his big hand flat on Brienne’s belly, he pulled her closer for a kiss, pouring his need in it. She was his second chance. 

Brienne rested her forehead on his cheek. Her hand stroked his chest, his waist, before settling on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. Don’t leave me?”

“No. Nothing will take me away from you again, Jaime.”

 

Tywin was a fool to think he had outsmarted her, Cersei thought, wincing and grunting as she struggled to open the double glass doors leading to the balcony. The only access point to this was through her room. Since the guards were only in her room at her express demand, she had some modicum of freedom but it wasn’t enough.

She was sick of it. For more than half her life she kept her secret affair with Jaime, eliminating people who would get between them. She thought of the two children suctioned out of her, remembered the very moment the last bit of life clinging to her womb before it was brutally removed. Her face twisted at the memory of that monstrous little brother of hers—Tyrion. Tyrion who made the mistake of confronting her about Jaime. 

She would have murdered Tywin if not for the power he held over her. To remove Tywin would be the end of her own power and it was all she clung to during the years of Jaime’s absence. But her own father had not only stripped her of the child, the one hold she could have had in having Jaime’s allegiance return to her, he had also removed all the means of which she could have power, through him and from everything else. But he was wrong to think that the absence of a sharp object would stop her. 

Freedom, Loras had offered her. What a joke. That kind of freedom was the sort given grudgingly, an afterthought. All her life Cersei had depended on men for power and freedom. No more. Jaime would have given it to her, she realized now. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what her life would be had she agreed to leave with him: far away, free to love as they wished. His betrayal and rejection had cut her deeper than she thought. Her twin had always been her mirror, a perfect reflection of her beauty, she always thought. But he was just like the others. As soon as her cunt was no longer his, he had sunk his cock in another, and one attached to what was probably the ugliest face she had ever seen.

Cersei shoved the door open. Cool, night air whooshed in, stirring the mussed sheets of her bed, rattling the objects on her dresser and shelves. She shivered and pulled her robe closer, but it was silk and flimsy. Yet she trudged into the balcony, her emerald eyes looking straight ahead. 

If Jaime preferred ugliness, then that’s how she would be.

She narrowed her eyes at the skyline and tore her gaze away momentarily to get one of the elaborately-carved metal chairs. She propped it against the railing. Then she climbed on the chair, one leg at a time, graceful even in her anger. Perhaps her silk, heeled slippers were not the best footwear but goddamn everyone. She was doing this in the softest silk robe, her skin scented with delicate, sweet lavender. She would leave this world a beauty but her remains would be the ugliest, sickest thing people would see. _Jaime liked it ugly,_ she thought as she climbed on the railing. No, that truth won’t tear her apart anymore. She was going to own it. 

She looked at the tiny figures of people walking back and forth, the lights from cars faint, distant orbs. She raised her chin and stared at the night sky. Of course it was a full moon. Of course.

The stars jostled at each other to witness Cersei Lannister put one step forward in the air and tipped down, a blur of gold and silk as she flew, tasting freedom for the first and last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're tying up loose ends here.
> 
> Dany's abortion occurs off-book. This is not something you announce to people but her conditions regarding the conversion of Summerhall should be a clear indication that this happened.
> 
> Before Jaime and Brienne left for the masque ball, she gave him a USB stick that contained information about his son. This was how I always planned for Jaime to see him: from afar and happy, loved. Jason Malliser comes from ASOIAF, of course, another character that I don't own, but I hated the spelling of Patrek (or is it Patreck?). So I made it into Patrick. 
> 
> Cersei's suicide was always going to be violent. I also planned for her first attempt to be foiled and for Tywin to use this as another reason to prove her instability. Tywin puts guards on her not for her welfare but because he intends to push for her marriage with Loras. The Tyrells are richer and the alliance would benefit both families. Olenna had been the one to pass Tywin photographic evidence of Gregor Clegane's visits to her (which also occurs off-book--it's a waste to devote even one line to show this scene especially) but since they don't really show anything graphic or damaging, we can assume that Tywin takes them as a warning that a repeat of this would not be tolerated again. This is why Loras and Cersei are still engaged until this latest chapter. 
> 
> And if you're reading it as such--yes, Cersei coercing the guards into having sex with her is rape. 
> 
> Since Highgarden is the official residence of the president, I invented Rose City but it is still located in The Reach. 
> 
> The "truly vile" line of course, is from Olenna Tyrell in Season 6 of GoT. I love that line.


	79. Take My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time she cried out his name he was drawn farther and farther from the darkness eager to consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne centric chapter, with a dash of Jon Snow.   
> Grief banging ahead.

No matter how much the legal team and a press agency tried to keep the true nature of Cersei Lannister’s death, they couldn’t plug the leaks until it was splattered all over the news, like her brains on the pavement below her penthouse. Media outlets from all over circled the details like vultures and the people were hungry for whatever information, the bloodier and more gruesome, the better. Brynden Rivers, WCA and the Golden Company had their hands full ensuring that Howland’s team didn’t contribute to the escalating situation by `accidentally’ leaking information about her relationship with Jaime. 

The funeral consisted of the Lannisters and their business associates, and what little friends Cersei had. Brienne had to quite literally guide Jaime through every step on that day, helping him put on his shirt, helping him into his jacket, running her palm gently on his jaw and showing him his electric shaver. Things were tensed between them, as it should be. Death always did that, but their situation was unique. Brienne doubted there was a wife such as she elsewhere, on pins and needles as she observed her husband withdraw into himself in his grief over the suicide of his sister-lover.

Brienne elected to hang in the back during the funeral but Jaime grabbed her hand and steered her determinedly to the front. Twyin regarded them coolly. The damage was done. They would not be welcome after this and Brienne both hated and pitied him. When his cold gaze settled on her round belly, she stared back at him defiantly, daring him to look at her and her child with contempt. Jaime noticed this and discreetly placed himself between he and his father. She didn’t know how Jaime had looked at his father but Tywin turned away and didn’t look at them again. He continued to ignore them until the crowd dwindled, and didn’t even say goodbye as he turned on his heel and headed for his limousine. Kevan at least went to shake Jaime’s hand and introduce himself to Brienne but he made no offer to remain in touch.

Jaime was silent on the drive home, further jacking up Brienne’s anxiety. But once they were past the front door, he suddenly pulled her by hand and pressed her against the wall. She caught her breath as his mouth mashed against hers, his lips dry and cracked at the corners, his breath smelling of unspoken devastation. She knew she should push him away, he couldn’t take her like this, not when his sister-lover had barely chilled the ground, not when he was clearly thinking of her. It hurt and her chin wobbled at the effort in stemming the tears. Yet she let him unzip her dress. She leaned back against the wall as he lowered his head and licked her throat and collarbones. Her fingers buried in his hair as his tongue rasped her nipples, squeezing them roughly and making her shout and thrust against him. His hands gentled but not his kisses. Lower, his hands went, reverent around the swell of her belly, his head following to kiss the sides, the bump, a tongue dipping into her navel. Then he whispered that she look at him, calling her by name, not Blue. Only then did she know that he was well aware of who he held, who he wanted and needed. She bit her lip as he slid her panties down, grasping her ankles gently to draw it away from her. He looked at her again, eyes green and bright, rimmed with red. Then his hands wrapped around her buttocks and he buried his mouth in her cunt. 

Tears, grief for his grief, spilled down her cheeks as her heart hung between pleasure and sadness. He draped her right leg over his shoulder, opening her more to his kiss. He licked and sucked her cunt as if it was a sweet, plump, succulent fruit. His tongue gave hard swipes on her clit, alternating with lips feasting on the little stiff button. He nibbled on petal-soft pink lips, rubbed his nose across the cluster of pubic curls. Just as she was about to come, he suddenly withdrew, rising from his kneeling position to stand against her. Their tongues warred for their share of her taste, fingers tugging at each other’s hairs. She gasped when he pulled her legs to his waist, shaking her head and telling him she was heavy, and the baby, most of all the baby. He drew her in his arms and she wrapped her legs around him as he turned to sit on the couch.

Straddling him, they got rid of his jacket, tore his shirt open and sent buttons pinging all over. He licked her cheek, her ear, her neck, sucked her lips as she fought his belt and shimmied his pants to his knees. His cock was a swollen, hard column of flesh rising from the golden curls. Together, they rubbed him to a more aching stiffness as their mouths met, teeth colliding. Then he helped her lower herself onto his cock. His grip on her waist would leave bruises.

They groaned at the loud squelch of her flesh accommodating his flesh. Up and down she moved, taking her pleasure as he took care of his own, biting and sucking on her throat, kissing her breasts in this manner as well. Her grunt was half a protest and half an approval when his fingers played with her clit, sending her right over the edge. She screamed, freezing over him, her thighs straining and trembling. He bit her shoulder as her cunt walls squeezed his cock as if to tear it off and he came, the sound from his lips hovering between a gasp and a cry.  
Jaime’s grief was a yawning abyss threatening to swallow him whole, where the only way to stop this was to bury himself in Brienne over and over again. She offered her red, swollen mouth and his cock buried itself there, hard and deep, bruising her throat, no doubt. He took her cunt despite her sleepy protests, a feral grin on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes when she sighed and submitted to the inevitable. She wanted it too. Every time she cried out his name he was drawn farther and farther from the darkness eager to consume him.

When the sun peeked from the dark horizon and began its steady rise, Jaime was choked with guilt but Brienne slumped heavily against him in sleep, her breath bathing his nape and her stomach firm against his back made him hungry all over again. He tried to be gentle, to take care, but his selfishness won out. Her eyes were bleary, tired pools as they stared up at him helplessly, her legs opening due to habit rather her own want. But she kissed him back. Brought his hand to her breasts, dragged it low to her stomach where it remained. Probably thinking she was dreaming, her eyes drifted closed as Jaime carefully spread her cunt lips open. In doing so, a thick stream of semen slid down her thighs. She was that full. He slammed his cock inside to replace what was lost, groaning at how easy it was to enter her in one thrust. 

When Brienne woke up, the morning was warm and the sheets and limbs tangled around her were heavy and sticky. She stared at the dresser, at the vanity, focusing on nothing really, just looking around. The air was so thick with the scent of their fucking she could taste it at the tip of her tongue. Trying to move, she realized that Jaime had flung half his body around her, as if to protect her. When she tried shifting again, he groaned in her ear and cupped her cunt possessively. 

“Jaime,” she said urgently, twisting her upper body. His head dropped to her breast and his tongue flicked at a nipple rendered too sensitive from his kisses. His cock was beginning to rise and press between her buttocks. “Jaime, I have to—“ blushing, she blurted out—“I have to pee.”

That got to him but his eyes remained closed. But he freed her. She quickly got up and went to the toilet.

She didn’t have to look at the mirror to catalogue his marks on her. Her throat felt tender that she suspected it was covered with his bruising kisses. Red-purple marks of his lips tracked her chest, her navel, her inner thighs, her wrists. Her cunt was sore but peeing gave her some relief. The dried, sticky tracks of semen around her thighs told her just how much Jaime had taken her last night. 

At least it was the weekend so there was no need to rush. Brienne helped herself to a white t-shirt and navy track pants from his closet. As she dressed, she glanced at Jaime’s reflection in the mirror. He was now sprawled with abandon on the bed. She kissed him on the cheek and he sighed, saying dreamily, “My Blue,” which pleased her, in spite of her exhaustion. He had been unstoppable last night but he knew who he was fucking, whose eyes he looked into as he came. He knew it was her strong, solid form in his arms. So as tired as she got, she still gave what he asked even when her entire body was protesting. Well, not all of her. 

In the kitchen, she prepared poached eggs and started slicing fruit, the growl in her stomach told her this wasn’t what her baby needed today. She laughed and resigned herself to reaching for the package of bacon. There. That silenced the growling. As it fried and filled the air with the aroma of meat and maple, she continued cutting up the fruit. She also popped some toasts. When she was done, on the table was a generous smorgasbord of bacon, toast, strawberries and bananas, poached eggs. She poured skim milk into a glass then attacked her breakfast.

She peeked in on Jaime, who was still asleep but had crawled on the space she vacated. Even in this state he longed for her. Thoughts of rousing him with coffee died when she realized he was out, as well as sugar. So she drove to the nearest café, loading up on his favourite gourmet coffee as well as a fresh cup, croissants and muffins. Satisfied with her purchases, she left humming.

Brienne knew she hadn’t been gone for more than twenty minutes yet when she got back in the house, Jaime was pacing in the living room, dressed in a t-shirt and plaid pajamas. His look of relief scared her as he had clearly thought the worst.

“I thought you’d left,” he confessed, pulling her in his arms and kissing her frantically. In her hands was the coffee and the bag of pastries so she couldn’t hold him.

“Only to get you breakfast. I’m afraid I ate all the bacon,” she said, blushing. 

He laughed and she looked at him, glad for the sound. He looked less dead in the eyes though they were tired and swollen. Urging him to sit down, she handed him the cup of coffee and put the package of croissants and muffins on the table. The warm beverage brought a golden flush on his pale cheeks, making him look more like her Jaime.

She slumped against the couch, put her feet up on the table. 

“Brienne,” Jaime lowered the cup and cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He looked ashamed. “I was rough on you last night.”

The more appropriate term was relentless. But otherwise, he had treated her with care despite the great need on his face to take her furiously. She shook her head ad answered, “You needed me.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“I _didn’t_ want you to stop,” she admitted, her face heating up.

Since he still looked unconvinced, she added, “Jaime, I am here for you however you need me, anytime. I love you. The only way that would change is if you order me away.”

He sighed. “You’re too good.”

She reached over and played with his thick, blond hair. “So are you.”

He frowned but didn’t pull away from her touch. “You think so? Brienne, you’re strong but you’re still vulnerable. Fuck, you’re pregnant. With my child. You got me coffee and pastries as if I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’m good? Seeing you in my clothes. . .I want to fuck you again. It’s a lot more than insensitive. I am not good.” 

Yet as he spoke, she crawled toward him. She took the cup from his hands and placed it on the table. Then, her eyes boring deep into his, she pulled his hand still warm from the beverage and brought it to her breast. He immediately squeezed and groaned, tipping his chin to receive her kiss. She clung to his shoulders, gripped his face as their kiss deepened. He sent his lips down the side of her neck, breathing quickly. He raised the t-shirt and fastened his lips eagerly on her red, tight nipples. 

“You still smell of us,” he whispered, looking up at her. Though there were grayish bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep, his gaze was burning. He plunged his tongue in her mouth briefly. “You still taste of me.”

She sighed and returned her mouth to his lips. He pulled her pants down, exclaiming against her tongue when his palms encountered the bare flesh of her buttocks right away. They smiled at each other, warm, teasing and smug. She wished they could always be like this. She panted against his tongue as he cupped her cunt. 

“Have you ever gone on a mission commando, Agent Tarth?” He asked, nipping the tip of her earlobe playfully then sucking it. 

A laugh huffed out of her as his hand firmed between her thighs, rubbing his fingers between the folds. “No comment,” she bit out.

He was smiling hugely as she shoved his head down the arm of the sofa. His eyes sparkled as he continued teasing her, “How many warlords have yielded because of your cunt?”

“I should take offense at that question but again, no comment.” She dragged his pajamas down his legs then finished removing her pants. Then she climbed over his hips. She rubbed his cock, spreading the moisture at the tip all over the hard flesh before guiding it inside her. They threw their heads back and groaned.

She was chanting his name as he surged up at her when the doorbell rang. Three times chimes filled the house. They froze, heads whipping to the door. 

“Jaime. Brienne.” It was Jon. “Open up.”

They frowned at each other then Brienne slid off Jaime. She picked up her pants and tossed him his. He was still hard and the lightweight fabric emphasized it rather than hid it. Brienne ran her fingers through her hair, fixing it as she went to the door, Jaime right behind her. She opened it and smiled at Jon, hoping it wasn’t obvious what they had been doing. 

“Jon, hello—“

“You need to leave now.” Jon said, sweeping past her. He yanked them from the door. 

“What the hell’s going on?” Brienne demanded as Jon halted in front of them, looking intensely at the windows they would be walking past. Then he told them to get low and move fast. Jaime shot her a puzzled look but she did as Jon asked. As they lowered themselves, Jon moved quickly, pressing his body against the walls and turning the blinds closed. 

“Jaqen called Cat and me. Word on the street is Howland’s ordered a hit on you.” Jon pushed them into the bedroom. Brienne’s ears reddened because one didn’t have to be a bloodhound to scent what they’d been doing her. Jaime hadn’t fixed the bed yet, further evidence of what happened. Again, Jon ordered them to duck while he proceeded to draw the blinds closed.

“What?” The Lannisters growled.

“Your testimony may not be over but there’s more than enough to convict him.” Jon explained, still looking at the windows though they were closed. “We need to get you to a safehouse. Pack only what you need.”

“Jon, this is—“ Brienne began but he cut her off.

“Later. Get your things now.”

Since Brienne had just moved in, most of her stuff were still in boxes or in the storage. But she took her jewelry box that held the earrings and necklaces Selwyn had given her, as well as a photo of her with him. She shoved her clothes in a suitcase. Jaime was rushing too, picking out only items that held the most sentimental value before throwing his clothes into a suitcase. Brienne got her gun and stuck it inside the waistband of her pants, drawing Jaime’s worried glance there. 

“Good,” Jon nodded. “We’re ready.”

“Who’s after us?” Brienne asked as they threw themselves in his car. Jaime pulled her in his arms and lowered them on the backseat. She looked at him and knew they were both thinking of the same thing: this was the escape to Skagos all over again.

“His old friends,” Jon replied as he fired up the engine and hit the gas. “The Sons of the Harpy.”

 

It wasn’t until midday when Jon pulled up in front of a quaint, lake-front cabin. Jaime gently nudged Brienne awake, who had dropped her head on his lap and dozed off soon after. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and asked, “Where are we?”

“Nowhere,” Jon replied, opening the door for them. “But you’re safe. For now.”

“For now?” Jaime demanded as he slid out of the car first followed by Brienne. As she stretched and adjusted her sleepy gaze to their new surroundings that mainly consisted of the rich vibrant greens and reds of leaves from the trees and vivid brown bark and earth, Jaime went to the trunk. Jon unlocked it.

“This is my place. No one knows about it. We couldn’t cough up a good enough safehouse right away. We had to act fast,” Jon answered defensively as he gave Jaime the bags. “Even Catelyn doesn’t know about this and she was the one to order me to take you away and keep you safe until Monday’s testimony.”

“Then what happens after that? Are you looking for these—what do you call them, Brienen?” Jaime asked. 

“Sons of the Harpy,” she replied, kicking a pebble in disgust. “Wenda’s group.”

“Seven Hells,” Jaime muttered. 

“We’re doing what we can. But Catelyn and I can’t put all Golden Company efforts into it because aside from being undermanned at the moment we’ve had to deal with a series of leaks. We can’ have Howland getting wind of what we know.”

“How do you know for sure it’s him?” Brienne asked as she followed the men to the front steps of the cabin. 

“It turns out that Catelyn is single-handedly overseeing a separate mission to infiltrate the group. She’s tasked Jaqen and his associates to do it. Howland may be under house arrest but he still knows how to escape his guards. He made the dumb decision to seek out the Harpy and just his luck, and ours, really, that it’s Jaqen he encounters in disguise.” Jon grunted as he unlocked the door. Immediately, a high-pitched whine resounded throughout the place, prompting Jaime and Brienne to cover their ears. “My apologies,” he said, punching in what appeared to be a ten-digit code. Brienne cocked her eyebrow.

“I thought no one knew about this.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not careful. Come in, come in.”

The interior of the cabin was a cross between rustic country and modern luxury. The furniture was worn and well-used, the carpet old but still colourful and vibrant. There was a fireplace to the side. The coffee table was glass and empty, save for a small pot of flowers—“Fake,” Jon told them. Jaime nodded at the big, flat-screen TV in the living room, which somehow managed to look right among the cozy furniture.  
“Two bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, kitchen’s over there,” Jon said, pointing ahead. “The master’s upstairs. You’re taking that. I’m taking the downstairs room here.”

“But that’s not your room,” Brienne pointed out. 

“No, but I’m the only line of defense you’ve got.” When she looked about to protest, he glanced at her tummy significantly. “I have no doubt you can still use a gun, Tarth, but hand-to-hand combat is out for you.”

“She’s Lannister now,” Jaime said, frowning.

“I’m sorry. Lannister, yes,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “Make yourself at home, Jaime. I have to show Brienne other features of the house.”

“Why not me?” He demanded.

Jon grinned. “Trust me.”

Jaime crossed his arms and stared after Jon and Brienne, who shot him an apologetic look. Jon ushered her into his study.

“Some things that would definitely interest you,” he said, removing a painting from the wall and pressing a button behind it. The wall rose, revealing a small but impressive arsenal of military-grade weapons including M-16s, hand grenades and automatic launchers, tasers, knives and pistols. 

Brienne, a hand on her stiff back and the other rubbing her stomach, looked at the stockpile then glanced at Jon. “No one knows about this place, huh?”

“Oh, like you don’t have some other weapon in your old apartment,” he said.

“At least a couple of knives and another handgun plus a rifle but not like this. What do you expect to happen to us here?”

“Best case scenario, nothing. Worst-case, we’ve been tailed and the Harpy are just waiting to strike. That’s why I drove in circles for hours to make sure. We’re just two hours outside of King’s Landing. If things go well tonight and tomorrow, I’ll be driving you and Jaime come Monday so he can give his final testimony.”

“Who told Howland he’s going to be found guilty?”

“Who knows. Between finding out who tipped him off and keeping you safe, the choice was clear.” Jon glanced at the direction of where they left Jaime. “I’m sorry about his sister.”

“We’re still processing it now and this? When do we get any rest?” Brienne muttered, turning away from the weapons. Jon simply tugged at the risen wall and it popped back into place. He returned the painting hanging on it.

“Ever since I found out that Wildfyre was still being produced I’ve not had much sleep,” Brienne revealed to Jon. “I lost Renly and my Dad, Robb. Jaime’s lost his sister. People we trusted with our lives turned against us. When does it end?”

“You know I can’t answer that.” He said quietly.

“Jon, I’m going to be a mother. I can’t bring a child into a world like this. But how long do I have to fight, to make sure that it’s safe by the time she’s born?”

“She?” Jon shot her a smile. “It’s a girl?”

“We don’t know yet. It’s too early to find out. And that’s the thing as well. What if we have a girl? With what happened to Daenerys. . .I am so scared for if and when I have a daughter.”

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, you’re freaking out. Look at me.” Jon put his hands on her shoulders and nudged her, urging her to look at him. His eyes were dark and unfathomable. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, and over things you shouldn’t worry about. Your daughter or your son, will have a good life. You’ll make sure of it. You won’t fail. You’ve never failed, Brienne.”

“I could have lost, Jaime.”

“But you didn’t. That’s what matters. We’ve been outgunned and outsmarted ever since we sought to finish this mission. I know that we can’t use the excuse about things being beyond our control but that’s what happened. We did all we could in the best way we can. It wasn’t enough. We lost so many, true, but we still have our lives.” He took her face in his palms and looked in her eyes. “We are still going to wake up tomorrow.”

 

That night, Jaime and Brienne were in bed just holding each other. Every now and then they would kiss and touch but did not go further. He breathed in the clean, wholesome scent of her from her hair and her skin. It was refreshing, smelling this, instead of exotic perfume that was always on Cersei’s skin.

Jaime resigned himself to the tendency that he would compare Brienne to his sister. He hoped he would do it less often someday, to never. While his love for her had burned away it wasn’t completely gone. Her death was painful, and maybe it always will. He felt no guilt over this. It wasn’t right but it wasn’t wrong either. He would never regret loving her in the way he had. But he was sorry that this was the love he had come to know and believed in for a long time until a tall, homely-faced government spy quite literally kicked her way into his life.

Were they meant to end up in this moment? He wondered. Jaime didn’t believe in fate but he wondered if things had been set in motion years before they met each other. What if Cersei hadn’t planted the evidence that got Tyrion kicked out of the family? What if she hadn’t gone away when she got pregnant? What if Howland had been a decent man who truly believed in serving his country rather than the delusional mercenary that he was? Renly Baratheon wouldn’t have crossed his path. He would know nothing about a sapphire-eyed agent, would not know that her call sign in the field was exactly who she was: Oathkeeper. 

The problem was there were too many what-ifs. Jaime was more of a believer that fate was what people made of their lives rather than an endgame just waiting to be unfolded. Perhaps if he had been a worse man he would overlook Cersei’s actions and remained blindingly devoted to her. He wouldn’t be in this moment, with the bravest and strongest woman he knew, the woman who owned his heart.  
Since their heights nearly matched, she couldn’t put her head on his chest without having her legs hanging off the edge of the bed. They lay facing each other, near mirrors despite the obvious differences. 

His heart raced when her hand rose to touch his cheek and stayed there. “What are you thinking?” She asked.

“Us. Where we are.” He answered.

“And?”

“Nothing. It is what it is.”

She nodded and turned on her back. The lights were out but moonlight filtered through the half-closed curtains. He could still make out the outline of her freckles, just as easily as he could see the hard angles and unyielding planes of her body, the gentle, round rise of her breasts against the tank top she was wearing. The bump of her stomach was still small but it was definitely noticeable.

His fingertips fluttered to the bluish network of veins on her inner wrist. “Once I’m done testifying, we can finally live.”

“Not until we find the Harpys hired to kill us.” Brienne turned to him and for the first time, he saw genuine fear in her eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here. We should still be moving, getting as far away as possible.”

“Blue, you’ve never struck me as one who walks away from a fight.”

“This isn’t a fight. Howland wants annihilation.”

“I hate to remind you of this but once he’s in the Black Cells what can he do? Nothing. If my testimony is what puts him away in that blasted place for good I’m doing it.”

She shook her head sadly. “Unfortunately, it’s not going to be that easy.”

He pushed up, leaning his chin on a fist. “What do you mean?”

“Once he’s down there, and yes, that’s where he will be, he’ll start plotting to get free. The only way to do that is to file for a retrial and then debunk the evidence gathered. For as long as we’re alive, we are in the way.”

“You’ve been a spy too long, Blue, that you’ve become a cynic.”

Her blue eyes were stormy. “I speak the truth.”

“So you’re telling me it’s never going to be over? We’ll be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives? Then you’re going to have to teach me how to kill a man with my bare hands, Blue.”

“That’s the situation if we stay here. We can’t. . .we can’t stay here afterward. Jon hasn’t said anything yet but that’s what’s in for us.” She turned on her side again. “We will have to leave this life and all that we know. Our family. Friends. Jobs.”

“You knew about this,” Jaime said after a moment. “From the first time you were given this mission. You knew this could happen.”

“Not as early as that. When Howland started reeking, I got the sense that we will have to put him away, if we got as far as legal proceedings. That’s all that’s keeping him alive. Jaime,” she sat up, still looking at him. “Do you hear me? I-I have no family besides you. You still have your father and other relatives. Once you’re done, we’re leaving. And we can not go back.”

Jaime digested this news. No going back. 

“I turned away from my sister and she killed herself. I told Tywin to shove his legacy down his throat when he insisted I take over as soon as possible. Arthur Dayne is gone, the man I looked up to as a father, mentor and friend. Who would want to go back to what was left behind? They’re less than nothing.” 

“He’s still your father, Jaime.”

“He disagrees.” He couldn’t hide the pain in his voice . “Brienne, I no longer care for anything here, except you and our baby. The two of you are all that matters. If running from King’s Landing is what will keep you safe then we’re doing it. There’s nothing keeping us here.”


	80. Moments of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit, that’s magic,” he whispered, awed that something so small could make everything stand still. He let out a breath. “That’s our baby. Brienne, that’s _our_ baby.”
> 
> “I know, right?” Brienne asked. There couldn’t be a more perfect moment than this. Their baby active, asserting its life, and Jaime experiencing literally first-hand fatherhood. His eyes sparkled as he drew her for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major Character Death  
> \--------  
> So after eons, I got a new Tumblr account. Please follow me at OhCaptainTarthister. I'll be putting my work at A03 over there as well as others. I write mainly J/B fanfic and other ASOIAF/GoT characters. See you there!

An unrecognized number had sent Catelyn a one-word text message two nights ago: “Safe.” She knew it was Jon using a burner phone but it didn’t help her to sleep any easier. Her restlessness only grew with every hour. Hating to disrupt her husband’s sleep once again, she retired to Sansa’s old bedroom. 

Monday morning, she woke up early, still not much rested. Daenerys was on her knees before the oven, sliding a baking tray inside. “Good morning,” Catelyn greeted her, long since used to the young woman in her home. She and Ned were sincere in telling she could stay for as long as she needed. With no family and the few friends she had ever more distant, there was no one Daenerys could be with or even talk to. 

At first, they worried that having Daenerys around could make for a tensed situation given what she went though. Her daily therapy had been lessened to three times a week. These days, she was a little more positive about the future despite still having a ways to go. She was never going to be completely okay but believed she could, and would, get better. One of the things she looked forward to was overseeing the conversion of Summerhall into a women’s shelter, and maybe even starting graduate school. 

Daenerys had also proved to be more than capable of looking after herself, and didn’t mind helping out in the Stark household. Bran and Rickon liked her and Ned and Catelyn were at ease in that when they wanted to go out, they had an instant babysitter. 

“Rough night?” Daenerys asked, noticing that Catelyn was pale and her eyes still looked heavy from lack of sleep.

“Last day of the trial,” Catelyn explained, sitting down. She managed a small, grateful smile as Daenerys put a plate of pancakes in front of her then a cup of coffee. “It’s still early. What time did you wake up?”

Daenerys sat on her seat and shrugged. “Earlier than you. I haven’t exactly been sleeping like a baby. I’m worried about the trial too.” She had testified for three days, presented as a witness to the many consequences of Howland’s ‘misguided’ actions and treasonous acts. 

Recounting her torture and abuse had the judge demanding for a recess until the following day. Catelyn herself thought that the medical report was Seven Hells, but hearing Daenerys describe how the guards had smashed her fingers with a sledgehammer had made her sick. It tied up Jaime’s account when he initially thought Brienne was taken too due to Wenda misleading him into thinking she was the one being hurt when it was actually Daenerys.

“Join me,” Catelyn invited her. “The boys won’t be up for another hour.”

“I’m waiting for the muffins.” Daenerys confessed, the sheepishness colouring her cheeks. “I made them with fresh blueberries. But I can have coffee.” 

“Gods, that smells good,” Catelyn sighed deeply. 

As Daenerys poured herself a cup then added some sugar, she said, “Do you think Howland will be found guilty?”

She returned to her seat and looked at Catelyn, who drummed her fingers on the table. “He should be.” She didn’t tell Daenerys about the hit on Jaime and Brienne. “But there are other ways of answering justice with the right kind of justice.”

“For the longest time, I wanted Viserys to be hurt like I was. I thought, if experienced just a drop of what he did to me he’ll let me go. Ask for forgiveness. This went on for years. One day I realized it was pointless to hope for this. I don’t know if there are people who are just fundamentally evil but wishing for them to see how thing are in your shoes, that’s never going to happen. And to wish that would mean you think they deserve mercy when they don’t. However,” she rose from her seat and plucked a toothpick from a holder. She opened the oven door and a blast of warm air filled the room but she faced it head-on, smoothly sticking the toothpick in a muffin and pulling it out to show it was smooth.

“I realized that if he had any decency in him, like, with doing those things to me he still thought to ask for my share of the Targaryen fortune instead of forcibly taking it from me, I would have given it all to him. No questions asked. Would I forgive him, probably. But again, these thoughts don’t have a point. Why would you still give when everything was already taken from you? That’s why I thought to escape, five years later, on the day your team attacked Summerhall. I realized wishful thinking was just that and I was going to die. That my eventual death was not even something I could choose and I was sick of being victimized.”

She removed the muffins from the tray, put two on a plate and left some covered to keep warm. She sat down again and looked at Catelyn. Her purple eyes were dark and unreadable.

“Howland Reed deserves no other justice but the right kind.” 

 

Brienne’s eyes flew open. She knew where she was, she knew who was sleeping beside her but why was she awake so early in the morning? The sun had barely risen, as evident by the faint, sepia light of the room. Did she have a bad dream? Or—

_Holy Seven Hells._

Gasping, she sat up, her eyes big with panic and fear as they stared at her stomach. Sharp flutters, scratching tickles, if that made sense, were coming from her stomach. “No, no, no,” she whispered, kicking the blankets away. Her heart kicked frantic and fearful in her chest at the sight of blood waiting for her. But there was nothing on her legs and thighs, just muscles and freckles. What was happening? Her baby had not moved like this before—

Suddenly, she burst out laughing, the sound that of a wheezing motorboat. Jaime jackknifed awake, hair on his face. “Wha-What’s happening?” He demanded, shaking the sleep from his head and body as he turned to her, eyes flashing with the panic she felt earlier. 

“Brienne?” He cried out, not knowing what to make of her red face and the odd sounds she was making. How insane she must look, half-sleepy, straw-blond hair standing on end. 

_“The baby’s moving,”_ she gasped, shaking with what he now knew was laughter.

“The baby—“

“Here.” She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach. Her crooked teeth did not get in the way of her beautiful smile, a smile that lit up the room and extinguished the darkness that had settled in Jaime’s soul since Howland’s trial and worsened by Cersei’s death. She bit her lip, her eyes misting with tears at the look of surprise on Jaime’s face followed by pure adoration. 

“Shit, that’s magic,” he whispered, awed that something so small could make everything stand still. He let out a breath. “That’s our baby. Brienne, that’s _our_ baby.”

“I know, right?” Brienne asked. There couldn’t be a more perfect moment than this. Their baby active, asserting its life, and Jaime experiencing literally first-hand fatherhood. His eyes sparkled as he drew her for a kiss.

As their lips met, the movements got sharper, stronger. Brienne shook with laughter again, sobbing this time at the joy threatening to burst from her heart while Jaime chuckled, his head falling on her shoulder. “It likes it when we kiss,” he said, leaning close to do it again. “I should always kiss you, it looks like.”

Brienne grinned as Jaime fixed the pillows so she could rest against them comfortably. Then with a mischievous wink, he tugged at the bottom of her tank top and urged it up. By the time it had been dragged off her head, she was an explosion of pink and shy but happy smiles. Her heart raced at the mix of desire and joy on Jaime’s face as he kept his palm pressed low on her stomach while kissing her on the lips, throat, her breasts. Sure enough, the baby’s movements got faster and harder and they had to pause to marvel at what was happening. She smiled over his head, which was resting between her right shoulder and breast. 

The baby’s movements lasted for ten minutes. Jaime whined when the baby settled back in whatever position it was in, probably having exhausted itself from the activity. Brienne kissed him in reassurance but she was a little disappointed too. How she wished they could just stay here all day. Maybe forever.

“She’ll come back,” Brienne said, her hand next to Jaime’s on her belly.

“She, huh?” He mused, slipping his fingers between her own. “Funny, that’s what I’ve been thinking too.”

“Really? You too?”

The smile he gave her was so dazzling she blinked several times. He laughed at her reaction and kissed the tip of her nose. “I know we shouldn’t have a preference, that what matters is it’s a healthy, normal baby but I would love to have a daughter with you. Daughters.”

“Daughters,” she echoed faintly.

“Brave like their mother,” he said, his kisses moving around her face, as if it was beautiful and made to receive such. “With her heart and passion. Your eyes. All of you, actually.”

“Let’s hope not all of me,” she said, feeling a twinge of pain at the bullying she had endured in school for her freakish, mannish height and coarse features. 

“Okay.” Jaime delivered butterfly kisses along her jawline, down her throat. “Instead of law enforcement they have an affinity for science. They’ll discover a way to produce renewable, accessible energy. End hunger. Make instruments for peace rather than war.” He nibbled on her left shoulder then danced his lips toward her collarbones. Brienne breathed sharply, intoxicated by the faint scent of his sweat, soap, and the warm musk of sleep. She opened her legs, unable to stop the breath of satisfaction at how right he felt there. He dropped kisses around her breasts.

Dreamily, she ran her fingers through his hair as he tongued her nipple. “Maybe our daughter will be a diplomat. Or a president.” She could see her now. Golden and beautiful like her father, mind as sharp and as unyielding as well-honed Valyrian steel. 

Jaime looked at her. “She will be herself.”

“ _Yes,_ ” she whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. “Oh, yes, Jaime.”

When they had each other this time, there were no grunts and harsh sounds between them, only her breathless, sweet coos, his voice soft, just hovering above a whisper, filling her ears, feathering the pulse points of her skin, the warm juncture between her legs. She was a puddle, willingly helpless as he positioned her with her back against his chest, her hips resting on his hard thighs. The newness of the position and intensity of his thrusts had her head falling back against his shoulder. She held his hand against her belly, where once again the baby was moving.

As she stood behind Jaime a while later, scattering kisses across his nape and the back of his shoulders as the shower rained on them, she marveled at how they could still have moments like this, light and happiness slipping through fissures in the darkness. Her training as an operative and having seen and experienced more violence than most people told her these would be rare so she took full advantage, prolonging the time as much as she can. She let Jaime press her against the wall, looking at him through the droplets clinging to her eyelashes, the warm mist surrounding them. She drowned in his emerald eyes, refusing to look away as she came with a cry. 

They continued exchanging little kisses as they got dressed, passed off lingering caresses as casual, accidental touches. He didn’t want it to end too. His gaze kept her trembling and warm, and she saw he liked her rough, limp hair, her eyes, the swollen, red bow of her mouth. He had looked at her hungrily, he told her he liked watching her, but this was the first time she felt that it pleased him to look at her.

Jon was on his way to the kitchen when they made it downstairs. He smirked at Jaime’s arms around Brienne’s waist from behind. They were showered and smelled of soap but there was no way to miss the just-fucked look on their faces. Brienne blushed and hissed at Jaime to let go. Jon laughed and went ahead of them, so he missed that Jaime not only refused but also snuck a hand down her pants to cup her briefly before returning it to a respectable height. When they sat down at the table, she kicked him hard in the shins, grinning as he grunted in pain.

Due to the food and drink Brienne was sending down the baby’s way, it started moving again. This time, she had Jon share the moment with them, pulling his hand and settling it right on the spot where it tickled. His dark eyes brightened.

“That’s really precious. Wow. She’s active.” He said.

“You also think it’s a she?” Brienne asked then shot Jaime a smile.

“Baby kicking ass that early? Definitely a girl.” Jon said, smiling as the movements got more active. Brienne giggled and Jaime hoped he’d hear the sound again soon. He cupped her scarred cheek but for Brienne, his touch went right to her soul.

 

Tywin had been standing on Jaime’s front door for nearly twenty minutes. He had rung the doorbell upon arriving but it went unanswered. He tried peeking through the windows but the glass was thick and coated heavily, giving him a distorted visual of the interior. He tried calling on Jaime’s cell but it all went to voicemail. But his car was still in the driveway.

He had been unable to forgive Jaime for not only parading around with that odd, horse-faced woman but also for his outright rejection of any part in the family business. Tywin didn’t know which was the worse transgression, only that he had been deeply offended and vowed never to speak to his son again. His brother, Kevan, thought him petty and persuaded him to resume contact with Jaime and regain his trust if he wanted to turn over the reins of leadership to his son someday. At the funeral, Jaime made it clear that anything that would cause distress to his wife was unforgivable. He had glared at Tywin with a mix of both contempt and pity as the old man restrained from making his disapproval of the Tarth woman any more obvious.

Kevan was often accused as using only his brain when Tywin did but he was actually astute and preferred to observe and analyze before firing off the first strike. When Tywin revealed his failure in securing Jaime’s participation in the business, Kevan had looked askance and demanded he make things right with the boy or the Lannister legacy was in danger. He also reminded Tywin that the woman was carrying Jaime’s child—the key to the future of the Lannisters.

This was the reason Tywin convinced himself to believe when he drove to the small, sorry-looking house Jaime lived in. He was doing this for the family, not because he approved or supported his son’s choices.

Giving up, Tywin turned away from the door. He walked down the path from the door to where his car was parked. As he was doing so, the door of the house on the right opened and a young man with sandy brown hair came out.

“Excuse me, but who might you be looking for?” He asked Tywin. He was dressed in a faded plaid suit. 

Tywin looked at him from head to toe. It was just disgraceful for Jaime to living in this neighbourhood. It wasn’t rough but clearly a modest one. “I’m Tywin Lannister.”

“Oh, you related to Jaime?” The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Daemon Sand. We’re neighbours.”

Reluctantly, Tywin shook his hand then released it. “So I see. Where is he and. . .the. . his wife?”

Daemon smiled. “Oh, yeah, Brienne. She’s tall. Shy but really nice. I didn’t get a good look but they left in a hurry Saturday morning. Some guy came to pick them up and they had bags.”

Tywin frowned. “Some guy?”

“Sorry, didn’t get a good look. I was painting my living room.”

“Do you remember the car?”

“Black. SUV. You know, the gas guzzler type. Maybe they went on a trip or something? I don’t even know when they got married. I don’t think they’ve gone on a honeymoon yet. Well, gotta go. I’ll tell them you came by.” 

Tywin was still frowning as Daemon got inside his old, tan sedan that appeared to be at least a decade old. Recent events made him suspicious of the circumstances behind Jaime’s disappearance. Then again, he might just be on a honeymoon. 

As far as Tywin knew, the concept of concern was unknown to him. To show or feel concern was to make yourself vulnerable. He didn’t have that luxury. Yet he couldn’t stamp down the unlikely flare of worry for Jaime. 

He got behind the wheel and took out his phone. 

 

Jaime’s final testimony went on for nearly three hours straight. Harald Karstark took delight in going over Howland’s dossier on him and having him confirm the contents there. Brynden yelled his objections, fighting for the focus to return on Howland’s crimes. When Karstark smirked and declared the defense rests, Brynden shot from his seat.

“Tell me, Dr. Lannister,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Would you have continued with the production of Wildfyre if Howland Reed did not possess facts about you that are extremely sensitive?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Wildfyre is a volatile substance and difficult to control. When the lab at the university was destroyed I thought that was the end of my participation in it, as well as the murder of my mentor, Arthur Dayne. But I was forced—“

“Objection,” Harald protested. “Witness is speculating.”

The judge glanced at Jaime. “I’ll allow it.”

“He forced me because he knew of the damage my relationship with my sister would do to our family if it's made public.” Jaime said, glaring at Karstark. “I knew it was wrong. But he left me with no choice.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lannister. The prosecution rests.” Brynden said.

“You may step down.” The judge told Jaime. Relieved he moved away from the witness stand, barely hearing the judge giving further instructions about recess and the verdict. His eyes were on one face in the room: Brienne.

She hugged him once he was close enough and he held her just as fiercely. He closed his eyes as her lips brushed against his temple, his cheek, before she pulled away slightly to kiss him. He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers.

“No matter what,” she said, still holding him, “it’s over. It’s done.”

He nodded wordlessly. 

As Catelyn and Jon approached to talk to them, Howland was ushered away. The two directors shot each other lethal, dagger looks until Howland caught something out of the corner of his eye. There, he saw Jaime caressing Brienne’s stomach, the motion flattening the loose clothes she was wearing to reveal the small, round bump there. He smirked

“You alright?” Jon asked, patting Jaime on the shoulder. He nodded, still refusing to relinquish his hold on Brienne. He had been zapped of energy and needed her strength.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” Brynden told them. He still looked tensed.

Jaime nodded and pulled Brienne behind him. Along with Brynden, Catelyn and Jon, they left the courtroom.

When Brienne revealed to him her pregnancy, Jaime had felt more dread than enthusiasm. By then, she wasn’t limping so much, her nose lift fixed and the black eyes gone. There was still work needed in the reconstruction of her cheek but she looked much better than the night they spent in the hospital. Jaime had no memory of falling from Targaryen Industries, only gunfire and the desperation to get Brienne out of there. It was during his debriefing when he demanded how Brienne got many grievous injuries. The moment he knew how and why, he wished he hadn’t asked. That the baby survived was a miracle but the difficulty Brienne’s body was put through because of the surgeries made him fear for its life. Yet he had asked her to marry him, not because she was pregnant but he wouldn’t allow them to be separated again. Fortunately, Brienne accepted.

The following weeks had Jaime observing the gradual changes in Brienne’s body. There was a new thickness to her hair now and her harsh features had gentled, somewhat. Her eyes were a more vivid blue. Her hard body, straight out of a medieval warrior fantasy, softened. The slight mounds of her breasts rounded as they filled with milk. Gone were the ridged outlines of muscles that defined her abs. Her thighs still had some muscle, as did her legs but overall, a slow plumpness had taken over her body. He imagined her like this shortly before their last mission, a lifetime ago. It was hope for when the future was more sure, not now. Jaime’s fear began to dissipate as it became clearer that mother and baby were healthy. But until Brienne’s wheezing, hysterical laugh at their baby moving inside her, the realness of this human had not punched him right in the face until this morning. He was never going to forget the sharp twinges against his palm, the light in Brienne’s eyes. They had lost so much that they deserved this. His love for Brienne deepened as they shared the moment, both of them wearing expressions of pleasant disbelief. That he could still have this, her, after all he'd done.

He wondered how Cersei looked like when she was pregnant with their children. More beautiful, definitely. Angry, he was sure. He never forgot the details in her file that showed she had terminated two of her pregnancies before. Jaime would be the last person to speak about a woman’s choice with her body but it was his children, their children. He had the right to know. He should have been part of her decision.  
The circumstances of their relationship made that impossible so as hated as Cersei was, he allowed this. Being with Brienne showed him many things he would never have with his sister, although he believed them possible for the longest time. She gave him the freedom to love her as he wanted, showed him the gifts of trust and intimacy. She was also giving, to the point that she left none for herself. Jaime realized this on the night they were told of Cersei’s suicide. He had raged and cried in her arms, until exhaustion had him falling asleep on her lap. She listened to his stories about childhood with Cersei, about how beautiful she was, how he had loved her. Not once did Brienne give him a judgmental look. Then the mindless, desperate fucking he subjected her to days before and after the funeral. To hear her cries, have her gasping against his tongue, to pump her so full of his seed she was dripping—this was how he kept sane. Things were over between him and Cersei yet in her death she had still taken a huge part of him with her. She was that cruel. Being with Brienne convinced him he could salvage some of it, still be the man he knew himself to be. She was the light of his world.

They were in the holding room for close to four hours. Brienne got hungry but it was Jon who went out to get her food and drink. She offered Jaime a bite of her beef pastrami but he told her to eat it all—he was too tensed. He took a sip of her iced tea, however, to wet his dry mouth and tongue.

When they were called back to the courtroom, Brienne suddenly needed to relieve herself. Her red face was a delight to see and he kissed her much too enthusiastically given their situation and the people around them. Catelyn cleared her throat and offered to take Brienne to the restroom. Jaime, Jon and Howland waited outside the courtroom until they returned. Then he took her hand again. She nodded, as if reading his thoughts because she said, “It’s going to be okay, Jaime.”

They sat down and listened as the judge explained how the tribunal reached their decision. Howland Reed stared straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the judge’s sharp barbs about loyalty, national security, the human and inalienable rights that were compromised and suffered. He kept his face stoic as the judge firmly declared that every citizen of Westeros was entrusted with its safety and security. This was both a right and a privilege and those who abscond it do not only betray their country but deserve the harshest laws as punishment. 

“In this regard, the tribunal finds you, Howland Reed guilty.” The judge then proceeded to outline that he was guilty on every charge brought before this court. At the end of it, she gave him an icy glare and demanded, “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Reed?”

Arrogantly, he declared, “I have always seen far, through the mist and storm, through fire and darkness. Westeros and Essos are on the brink of war, deny it however you want.”

“You helped instigate that war!” Brienne suddenly shouted, lurching to her feet. To Jaime’s horror, she charged toward Howland and Karstark. “You fucking traitor, you brought war on our doorstep—“

“Somebody stop her!” Harald shouted the closer she approached. The judge yelled for order as everyone on the side of the prosecution went after Brienne. Jaime reached her first and threw his arms around her. To her ear, he begged, “ _Don’t._ My love, don’t.”

“You deserve worse than Seven Hells,” Brienne declared, stilling in Jaime’s arms as she looked at Howland squarely in the eye.

“Further outbursts will not be tolerated. Return to your seat, Agent Lannister. And take Howland Reed away,” the judge ordered. 

“I feel dizzy,” Brienne suddenly moaned. She spun in Jaime’s arms and he whispered, something, she couldn’t make it out. The last thing she saw was his beautiful green eyes before the world turned black. 

 

It took hours before Tywin got hold of President Tyrell. She expressed her condolences for his loss and if he were rude he would tell her to shut up. Instead, he endured her speech about the loveliness of Cersei, wanting to scoff and snort the entire time. As soon as she was done, he quickly pounced on the question he had been wanting to ask, his sole concern: Would she know what happened to Jaime? He quickly gave her details gathered from Jaime’s neighbour.

Tywin crossed the street, noting the ambulance parked by the curb of the courthouse. He hadn’t any idea of the gravity of Jaime’s involvement with the government until mere minutes ago. Now understanding what his son had been through, Tywin was not only ready to take him, he was going to forgive everything Jaime had done. He would even accept that woman. She carried the next line of Lannisters, after all, so she was good for something.

He had just reached the steps when he saw the doors opening and emergency services guiding a stretcher down the ramp. He didn’t recognize right away that Jaime was following them. His suit jacket was halfway down his arms and his tie askew. There was no mistaking the look of alarm on his face. Behind Jaime, an older man followed, and a woman with auburn hair. Rounding up the rear was a young, dark-haired man that Tywin assumed was the one that picked up Jaime and Brienne from their house last Saturday.

“Jaime,” Tywin called out. “Son.”

But Jaime was talking to the people behind him, nodding anxiously as the stretcher—which Tywin realized held Brienne—was loaded in the back of the vehicle. This time he felt it—the rush of concern and worry. He stepped forward just as Jaime shook hands with the three people with them and got in the vehicle. The doors shut behind him.

Tywin rushed forward, intending to join Jaime, support him, be with him but the ambulance moved. It was around ten feet away but Tywin believed he could make it, tap on the door and be allowed inside. He could almost see the look of relief on Jaime’s face. 

He took one step closer, two, three when the ambulance suddenly exploded in a conflagration of vivid, orange fire. The force threw Tywin off his feet and sent him flying to the ground, where he fell. Pain exploded everywhere at once. As the air filled with screams and the sound of people running, it dawned on him that Jaime was in it. The ambulance. _Jaime was in the ambulance._

He forced himself to sit up, crying out, not from the pain anymore but at the sight before him, burning bright and sure in the sun, consuming what was left of Jaime Lannister and his wife. 

Tywin screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.
> 
> _____  
> Jaime and Brienne's conversation about having daughters was inspired by this awesome fanfic, Keeper of Oaths, which is part of the Honor Thy Regard series by SigilBroken. Please check it out. It's one of my favourites.


	81. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What other answers could you possibly need?” Daenerys asked. “Whatever you find out, if they were murdered, they’re still dead.”

_Five years later_  
_Skagos_

 

The air tasted more of ice than salt. The sea was choppy with waves at least a couple of stories high, in Daenerys’ estimate. Winter was coming and the northernmost parts of Westeros were bracing themselves for its first brutal wave, expected to worsen in the coming months. This meant the sea would be frozen and Skagos would be effectively cut off from the Isle of Skane then the rest of the world. Daenerys had been accumulating her stockpile of food, beverage and warm clothes months in advance. The last winter was nearly ten years ago and the Citadel predicted that this one would be worse and longer.

Skagosis were leaving in droves, abandoning their houses for the warmer, more bearable winter conditions in the south. Daenerys waved at a family sailing away from Skagos, smiling as they waved back hesitantly. They thought her crazy to be not only living alone in one the least-populated places of Westeros but also having no plans to leave for the winter. 

Daenerys parked the speedboat then loaded the shopping bags atop the other on a cart. There were six and she hated having to make a return trip. She heaved as she pushed the heavy cat, wooden planks heaving and sighing under their weight. The cart’s old, thin wheels squeaked. 

She had been living in Brienne’s stone house for five years now. She stumbled on its existence by chance during an idle browsing of estate announcements and disposals in the newspaper. King’s Landing was a place of bad memories and Summerhall of nightmares. There was no place to go. The opulent apartment she once owned had been sold, the bulk of the money deposited in banks and low-risk stock shares. The rest she used to buy a modest walk-up for when forced to make that rare visit to the city.  
The women’s center at Summerhall ran smoothly without her, which was the only reason she ventured to the city since they could be considered quite close. At the time she discovered the house in Skagos, she had been toying with the idea of visiting Summerhall less. 

Summerhall was not an easy place to go back to but she made an appearance occasionally to ensure things were running well. Therapy was still very present in her life though less now, as she had accepted she could never slay all the demons no matter how much she talked and confronted them. Isolating herself from the familiar and her friends was probably ill-advised but there was a need in her, an urgency, a plea, to leave King’s Landing and heal elsewhere.

She was still in touch with Catelyn and told her about the house in Skagos. Catelyn had frowned and asked if she could accompany Daenerys when she made her bid. It wasn’t an odd request because they had become friends. It was when Catelyn got more details and finally saw the house that she recognized it as Brienne’s.

While Catelyn just about managed to keep it together with the death of Robb, Brienne’s undid her. Daenerys remembered seeing the news and Catelyn screaming at the flames devouring Jaime and Brienne. Jon and Brynden could barely restrain her.

In spite of what happened to her and what she was beginning to realize then that would haunt her until death, Daenerys thought their deaths was outright cruelty. She respected the couple and through them she believed there was still some hope in the world. A light had gone out of her that day as well.

Grunting as she gave the cart a final, determined push, , Daenerys looked up and saw a man with blond hair standing in front of her house, clearly waiting for her. Her steps faltered until they stopped when she was a few feet in front of him.

His head was big and topped with a mix of pale blonde and golden hair. The rough winds from the sea ruffled the unkempt cap of limp waves and rough strands. He was an ugly man, monstrous, even, with his mismatched eyes, one very dark and the other a startling, bright green. His features were pinched despite the size of his head, his shoulders sloping and narrow as a child’s, complete with small, pudgy hands. A dwarf. 

“Miss Targaryen,” he spoke, his voice surprisingly deep, with a soft timbre. “I’m Tyrion Lannister.”

Daenerys didn’t respond but instead continued looking at him, frowning.

Tyrion coughed. “I would have sent word but my associates weren’t sure if you really lived here.”

She didn’t like that word. It reminded her of Viserys.

“What do you want?” She demanded.

“My brother is Jaime Lannister. Was.” A glimmer of pain flashed in his eyes for a moment before they disappeared. “Miss Targaryen, if I may ask, could we go inside? I’m afraid I’m not used to this cold.” Daenerys was wearing a heavy jacket over a shirt, jeans tucked into bulky, serviceable boots. Tyrion was only wearing a three-piece suit.  
“I swear I mean no harm. I only have questions.” Tyrion added when she continued staring at him with open distrust. 

“I didn’t know them for long,” Daenerys told him.

“My sources tell me so but I have it on good knowledge that you trusted them enough to witness the change in your will regarding Summerhall.” When she frowned, Tyrion spread his hands helplessly. “I understand your suspicion. But I have a mission. I intend to fulfill it. All the people who could give me answers are either dead or refuse to cooperate.”

Howland Reed, Daenerys thought. That was the only good to come out of this, if it could be called that. On the day of his sentencing, Howland had gone to the restroom. He was found in a pool of his own blood, throat slit. 

Catelyn Stark was still director of the WCA. Jon Snow, Daenerys didn’t know anything about. Shortly after the ambulance explosion that killed Jaime and Brienne, he too had disappeared. The few times Daenerys saw Catelyn and dared to ask, Catelyn had told her he simply stopped showing up to work one day. It was more common than thought among agents, to have lost so much and just up and disappear. Jon was close to Brienne. 

“What other answers could you possibly need?” Daenerys asked. “Whatever you find out, if they were murdered, they’re still dead.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Tyrion said. “I have reason to believe they’re not.”

 

Tyrion sat in the warm kitchen, watching as Daenerys put tea bags in mugs before pouring hot water. She was young, not yet thirty-five. Her movements were slow and measured, as if bracing herself for a sudden flare of intense pain. Despite this, she was clearly healthy, with a pink in her cheeks that was a little unexpected with the approaching winter this far north.

He knew about the numerous violations visited on her body. There was a lot of information to go through before he found exactly what he was looking for. Her medical records were extensive due to the number of reconstructive surgeries done to her. This was the reason for her careful, stiff movements. 

The sole heir of the Targaryen empire was no more. Despite trying to do it discreetly, the business world soon picked up that she was dismantling the empire her family had held on to more than a hundred years. She was still rich, but only about one-sixteenth of how rich she used to be, probably even less. The clutter and mess in the living room that greeted them, and unwashed plates and glasses on the sink told Tyrion she lived on her own. Things were relatively neat, though, but she didn’t pick up after herself immediately. The jacket she had worn would still be good for a couple of years but her clothes were old and faded. When they shook hands, Tyrion discovered her palms were rough and calloused. 

Daenerys made no apologies for the disorder around them. Though Tyrion had uttered the magic words, she still remained suspicious and felt his small body for anything he might have—a recorder, something to knock her out with, anything. He noted the ax propped against the cabinet under the sink, an odd place but thought she kept it close to feel safe.

She pushed his mug toward him then took a seat. Tyrion murmured his thanks and took a sip of the beverage, its warmth immediately singeing the chill that misted over his veins. Violet eyes watched him suspiciously. 

Daenerys continued to hold her drink in her hands while his cool lips continued to grip the mouth of the mug, sipping until halfway. When his body seemed to have returned to its normal temperature, he put the mug away.

“I didn’t know them for long.” She spoke first. “But I don’t remember Jaime mentioning a brother.”

Tyrion’s smile was quick and rueful. “No he wouln’t. At that time, I was considered dead. By my father.” Her eyes curious, he shook his head. “A sordid story to be told for another time.”

“The nights here are long and I don’t have much for company except for rocks and books,” she said. “You’ve also never mentioned how you got here.”

“A boat would be arriving in three hours to bring me back,” Tyrion explained. “I thought to fly at first but the winds and the low visibility made it precarious. Well, Miss Targaryen, if it’s the story you want—“

“Dany.” She interrupted with surprising force. Realizing this, she added, softly, ”It’s my nickname”

He smiled. “Very well, Dany.”

So Tyrion told her. He told about the drugs planted in his room that led Tywin to disown him, not allowing him to leave with more than the clothes on his back and his share of the inheritance. Tywin warned that if he set foot in Westeros again, he would have Tyrion arrested and thrown in prison to rot, despite his innocence. His father never made idle threats so Tyrion took his share and went on the first flight to the region of Essos. Fearful that his father was having him tailed, he took another flight to Sothoryos then settled in Naath. His blond hair and different eye colours made him stand out in a population of people with golden skin and saw very little foreign presence.  
With his inheritance, Tyrion slowly built a life. He channeled all the hate and bitterness for his family toward something productive. Day and night he toiled, fought, fucked when he could. Work became his drug, as well as the occasional whore. By the time Uncle Kevan appeared on his doorstep one night, Tyrion had not how much time had passed since his father threw him out. He was living in Braavos then, and controlled the shipping throughout the continent. 

“There my uncle was, wizened, tired, desperate.” Tyrion recalled. “I never thought to see anyone from my family again. Thought I was high, or drunk. Then he spoke.” Tyrion lowered his head to sip his tea and found it cool. “He told me about my father’s declining mental state, and how he himself was not doing any good physically. There was no one to inherit because his children were ill-suited,” he added, chuckling bitterly. “That left my father with no choice. In a moment of clarity, he demanded that I be found and returned. Turns out the old man had been keeping tabs on me for years.”

Tyrion had refused Kevan, not wanting to have anything to do with his blasted family, his father and sister, most of all. Then Kevan told him about Cersei’s suicide from years before and Jaime’s murder shortly after that. Kevan, a man who could be as obstinate and threatening as his father, actually got down on his knees and begged for Tyrion to return.

Tyrion didn’t hear him then. His mind was clouded with disbelief over Jaime’s death. Jaime’s murder.

“I returned to the family on the condition that my priority was finding my brother’s murderer, of which no effort would be spared, and the fucking business way down,” Tyrion explained. “I told them I would stay only until I’ve solved that and in the meantime, they were to train one of my cousins. I didn’t care who. My family have always been against me but never my brother.” He stared at his cup. “I owed him that.”

First, Tyrion found out through Kevan that Jaime had gotten married and was expecting a child. Brienne Tarth, Tyrion discovered, was not the high-born society butterfly he imagined his brother would marry at the behest of their father. He found records of their marriage in the city hall, and from there, a list of witnesses. It was short: Ned and Catelyn Stark, Jon Snow, Daario Naharis and Daenerys Targaryen. The absence of Lannisters was more than enough to know how they regarded his marriage.

It took some time before he got his hands on police and autopsy reports, records from the mortuary and the like. The bodies were charred beyond recognition from the blast but they fulfilled the physical requirements. The woman was exceedingly tall at six-foot-three. 

And the woman was not pregnant.

He scoured every inch of the report and interviewed experts. There was a possibility that her body was too charred to confirm her pregnancy. To cancel that, Tyrion had Brienne’s remains exhumed. It was confirmed: she was not pregnant.

Kevan told Tyrion that Tywin must have only been rambling about Jaime’s wife probably being pregnant, a first sign of his mental decline. Just before Tywin lost control of his mind completely, he had adamantly declared that Jaime told him Brienne was pregnant. This led Tyrion to start looking for her most recent medical records.

It was a task he knew was difficult but he did not expect for two men in dark suits, one with red hair and the other slick and oily, to show up at his place one night demanding that he end his search. Tyrion lay low for a few days before he resumed the search. 

“It was there, on records from a hospital that no longer exist, that I found out that Brienne was pregnant,” Tyrion said. “She would have been between three to four months at the time of explosion. Along with her records, I also found Jaime’s, a man named Robb Stark, and yours, Dany. I remembered your name as a witness from the wedding but you couldn’t be found. How long have you been holed up here?”

“A long time.”

“That’s why. That and I also know that you employ a private security outfit to man the waters so you are informed if someone approaches.”

“But not today. Today they failed me. Men have always failed me in both astounding and terrible ways.”

Daenerys took their mugs to the sink. She sighed then shuffled back to sit before Tyrion. Eyes clear, she spoke.

“If what you say is the truth and it wasn’t Brienne’s body, then there’s a chance she must be alive as well as your brother. I respected her and that would be the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. But I’m sure she and Jaime had reasons for disappearing like that.”

“I know about yours and Jaime’s testimony against Howland Reed. I know everything’s that happened. I needed to know what my brother went through for him to believe he had to disappear. I have no love for our father but he asks for his son. He never tires of asking for his son. The man is going to die soon and I need to get out of here. Don’t you see? I must find my brother.”

Daenerys shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know where he is.”

“That’s what Catelyn Stark told me.” Tyrion said bitterly. “To her Jaime and Brienne died in that vehicular explosion. I’d ask her husband but he’s dead. Jon Snow, if he’s even real, has never been found. I wasn’t visited by the men in black again but I get calls and notes every now and then so I they’re still watching. That tells me that they’re alive, Dany. They have to be. But they’re no longer in danger. They have to come back here.”

“And do what? You don’t know how it was for them. If I had the opportunity, I would disappear too. Start elsewhere. Forget who I was. I could probably live easier with a lie like that. You’re being selfish.”

“Selfish!”

“If they’re alive and if somehow you manage to convince them to return, then what?”

“I can not rest until I know that my brother and his family are alive and well.”

Dany shook her head. “Then you’ll never rest. I’m sorry, Tyrion, but I don’t have the answers you need.”

“This Jon Snow. Is he even real? I have not found any photos of him. Only his name.”

“He’s real. Whether he’s alive, I don’t know. The last time I saw him was on TV with Cat when the explosion happened.” 

Seeing the defeat on Tyrion’s face, she put her hand over his.

“I’m sorry. I can see that you truly cared for your brother. But I have no answers just as you have more questions. I can’t help you.” 

 

_Nine months later_  
Lotus Point, Walano  
The Summer Islands 

 

Tourists and foreign residents nearly equaled the population of Summer Islanders these days. This gave Tyrion enough cover to blend in, although there still weren’t many dwarves, he thought with wry humour as he read the newspaper. 

He was at an outdoor café, his hair hidden under a baseball cap, his mismatched eyes behind sunglasses. Beside him was a half-full glass of wine. 

When the meeting with Daenerys Targaryen turned out to be a bust, Tyrion refocused his efforts on determining where Jaime and Brienne could have ended up. Jon Snow, as far as he was concerned, was a myth. He had to be—from Tyrion’s vast network of sources came only one dubious report about the agent being deep cover somewhere in Essos. He abandoned the search for the agent.

Catelyn Stark still his best lead, still wouldn’t take his calls. Tyrion did thank Dany though she hadn’t done anything. He left and never looked back but he still kept an eye on her.

Sure enough, two days after his visit, Tyrion’s tech guys intercepted a cryptic email sent from her computer. _I had a visit from little brother today, she had written. He misses you._ The guys couldn’t tell exactly who owned the email address Dany had written to but after a few more days, determined it was to someone in the Summer Islands. Another email or some sort of contact would help but it would be months before whoever was in the Summer Islands replied, “Someday.”

Dany’s phrasing indicated that she was clearly talking about Tyrion, giving him hope that the recipient had to be Jaime or Brienne. This meant there was only thing to do  
“Seven bloody hells you’re abandoning the company,” Kevan fumed as Tyrion glared back at him defiantly, unintimidated. “We’ve been doing so well, you’ve been making your mark, Tyrion, and now you’re leaving to look for your brother—Jaime is dead. You’re just fooling yourself.”

“I have enough proof that says otherwise. If my brother is alive, it’s my responsibility to bring him back here. He’s Tywin’s heir.” That was no longer painful to state. “Not me. I intend to fulfill my part of the agreement with my father—“

“An agreement you made to a man who no longer has control of his mind!”

“If my cousins are being taught as well as I expect them to be, my absence shouldn’t be felt at all. They’ve been working for this company longer. Don’t tell me you have more faith in your dwarf nephew you haven’t seen in years.”

Kevan sighed. “You know this is wrong.”

“It’s even more wrong if I don’t see for myself.”

“What is abominable is your turning away from your responsibilities here!”

Tyrion looked him in the eye. “I’m going.” 

He hesitated visiting Tywin and telling him he was leaving but did it, anyway. His father just stared out of the window, hunched and his head clearly somewhere else.  
Tyrion once again got his contacts working. First, he demanded a list of all persons coming from Westeros in the last five years. A monumental task because the Summer Islands visitors averaged seven million a year. From there, he had the list narrowed to those with backgrounds similar to Jaime and Brienne’s, but he wasn’t betting on that because if they had assistance, they would be traveling under assumed identities. He still did this, and narrowed it further to those who have become or had filed for permanent residencies. He also requested childbirth records from the last five years.

From there, the names were narrowed to thousands. Just as Tyrion was losing hope that he would never find Jaime or his wife, an answer was provided by Catelyn Stark.  
She had used her personal email and sent a message to the same address Dany had written to months ago. _I look forward to meeting your cubs._ Tyrion had his contacts working day and night to keep track for when the recipient would reply. This time, they only waited three days. Not only that but they had a residential address. It was in a building right across the café had had been observing from for nearly a week. This was something only he could do. He didn’t know how dangerous it could still be for Jaime and Brienne, didn’t know if he had endangered them again by finding them, but he had to know. Before, he only wanted to repay his brother a debt and to get out Westeros by finding him, dead or alive. Now it was something deeper. He needed to see Jaime alive. He needed to see him happy and well.

As Tyrion sipped wine, a very tall blond emerged from the street corner, a large paper bag of groceries in her arms. Despite being some distance from Tyrion, he could see the that she was ugly and looked more like a man than a woman—a description often tied to Brienne Tarth. Her pale hair was caught in a limp ponytail. 

She stood out and Tyrion had seen her several times. He saw her with a blond boy that looked nothing like her, saw her with twin girls about a few months old. She was always coming and going, taking the children, going to work carrying her briefcase, just being busy. Jaime Tyrion had yet to see. 

The doorman of the building greeted her, warm and friendly. As they exchanged greetings, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, Blue!”

Tyrion froze. 

He had to rip off his sunglasses to see _his brother_ coming from the other side of the street. Jaime with his blond hair brushing his shoulders and a sunny smile on his face. Jaime pushing at the stroller Tyrion had seen the woman use, with the blond twin girls he had seen with her, as well as the blond boy. He looked just like _a father_ and Tyrion wondered if the reason he missed seeing his brother was because he looked like that, plaid shirt and jeans, _content._ You didn’t notice people who were happy, after all.  
Brienne, Tyrion knew now, smiled back at Jaime and held out an arm to him. _Gods above, she looks almost beautiful smiling like that, in this light._ Jaime sped up, playfully urging his son to run with him. He urged the boy forward first, who got a kiss from his mother. The girls were next. Finally, she straightened up and went to Jaime. They kissed quickly but Jaime kept his arm around her waist, while she caressed his cheek before dropping her hand. They were talking to the children as the doorman helped them inside the building. The little boy was tugging at the bottom of Brienne’s t-shirt as they disappeared into the building. 

Jaime was alive. Jaime and Brienne were alive and had a family. 

_They looked so happy._

Tyrion put away the newspaper and stared at the door of the building, once again shut and the doorman smiling as he stood in front of it. He had memorized and turned over and over his head the floor where they lived, their apartment number, the aliases they now used. Now he knew they were real, that the people behind them wear real.  
His heart thumped heavily as he pondered over the choice before him. A power he never wanted.

Tyrion finished his wine and pulled out bills from his wallet. He gave the building another look, his face both happy and longing. He could do it. He could still do it. He knew Jaime would welcome him, would introduce his wife and children to him. His brother had always been kind like that, loving him without question.

And it was because of that love why Tyrion turned and walked away. 

It was the last time he would walk away. 

From a window in the building, a pair of sapphire-blue eyes watched the small man wait outside of the café until a nondescript black car pulled up and he got in. They watched the car move then drive down the street.

A long time had passed since she was an agent but the training and instincts honed and developed were still embedded deep inside her. She had noticed him several times, sitting at different parts of the café and remaining there for hours. His size told her who he was but she didn’t dare approach him in fear that someone else may be watching too. The latter was a possibility she learned to live with but refused to be enslaved. They would live and fight again if they must.

But she didn’t know if and when she would tell her husband that his brother was alive and looking for them They had paid the price if they were to continue to live, to protect what was most precious. Her hand drifted to her stomach briefly, remembering those two weeks of hiding and moving a lot. The fear that never left them, for each other and the baby. Never again, she had vowed.

As she turned away from the window, her husband went to her. His green eyes were glowing, the smile on his face beautiful before he leaned up and brushed his lips on her cheek grafted with new skin, so the scar was only visible under a certain light, a certain angle. She turned and took his mouth, moaning and leaning against him. His body was strong, always her source of strength.

“Robb wants French fries for dinner,” he murmured before licking her thick lips and pushing her hair back from her face. She looked at their son fondly. He was named after two men she loved and missed still, Robb Selwyn. Catelyn had been quick to agree about their naming their boy after her son. She was his godmother, and Daenerys. Despite the risks, they remained in contact with them.

She laughed. “That’s not happening.”

“Maybe you should tell him. He’s under the impression that he can negotiate with his Dad.” He kissed her on the cheek and she closed her eyes, overwhelmed with the happiness they had managed to find at the edge of the world. She held him tight before pulling away to talk to their son.

One of the girls started crying. He strolled to their cot and saw Joanna squirming and whimpering while her sister Catelyn slept peacefully. He checked her diaper but it was clean. As he picked her up, she quickly quieted and he hid a smile in her fragrant neck. Joanna liked to be held. 

Holding her, he walked back to the window from where his wife had stood earlier. Night was beginning to fall, bringing with it its army of endless stars. He pointed them out to Joanna, whose big, sapphire eyes followed the direction his finger was moving in, as if she understood. 

From behind, he could hear his wife telling their son that French fries were not proper nutrition but there were healthier alternatives he would love as much. He smirked, catching his reflection on the glass and his daughter staring back at him before her lips spread in a beautiful, toothless smile. He kissed her on the forehead and held her close, looking back at the sky and marveling that after all the lives lost and the violence they endured, they had found this little corner of happiness at the end of the world. He still remembered how they could only dream of this not too long ago, in spite of Jon Snow’s vow that they would live and be happy for a long time. That he only started believing the man when his son was born and he felt a kind of love and hope that never warmed his heart before. 

What they had here, each other, their children, was more precious than anything else. They had fought so hard and lost so much. He didn’t know if it made him a bad man to refuse any thought about the life they left back in Westeros. Anything without his wife was not much of a life.

And after so long of being in the shadows, he was finally alive and living in the light. Both of them. 

Here, at the edge of the known world, not only were they given a second chance but they learned that the real and the dream could be the same thing: that it was beautiful. Aside from their vows as husband and wife, this was their other vow, to protect this beauty they had found, and lived in. 

He turned away from the window, whispering to his daughter sweet nothings that made her giggle. It drew his wife’s eyes toward them and looking at her, he felt his heart light and full at the same time, surging with a love that can only be felt at the woman who had saved him, and will always save him. 

And he would do the same for her and their children always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, the ending of Westeros Central Agency that I've been meaning to post. I think I've warned those who asked about the nature of the ending. More questions rather than answers but I think there are answers, right?
> 
> Thank you for reading and cheering me on! Wow! I meant this to be only forty between forty-five chapters and it's clearly more than that! I hope you enjoy it. Until next time! 
> 
> Thank you again. :-)
> 
> ____  
> So where's Jon Snow? As he and Catelyn arranged, he took over as director of the WCA black ops division, the Golden Company, when she was made director of WCA at President Tyrell's orders. Since the Golden Company's existence should not and can not be confirmed, then it wouldn't be unusual if there are mixed reports about his whereabouts. He may be hiding in plain sight, for all we know.

**Author's Note:**

> Flexing my fingers and imagination in writing a story involving spies and suspense. I know nothing about weapons, spies, or anything related to that, nor am I pretending to be an expert. So what you'll find in this story is basic research at best. Certain spy-speak here are entirely my invention. But I promise you to give you a good and entertaining story. 
> 
> Btw, I love compliments. :-)


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